Melinda Foshat

Poetry, Prose, Photography


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That Day

I died––that day
It was cold––his breath
When it chased––the warmth
From my gaping chest

Eternal––that night
They were black––his eyes
When they bound––the light
From my bloodshot sight

Yet I––pretend
Passion mocks––the wind
When the heart––it bleeds
Every color but red

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