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by Allison Dunlap

The crusted lust of starving eyes
Slices through the gentle soul,
Eats away her innocence,
And dices up her would-be pride.
The thickíning crust collects

And cakes like year-old mold
Inside her dying dreams.
It slakes its icy gaze
With her naÔve nectar,

Turns her fruit to steak,
And with Viking haste,

Rusts her love to waste.

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