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Arthur Edwardson

My Emily

It is a night of sorrow, a song of dark desire,
wolves vent their loneliness. The thirsting one
rises.

Curling, icy wisps of death shrouds her pale form,
an eternal wanting she is forever damned to pursue.

Her raven hair cascades over
translucent ivory shoulders, and her
full scarlet lips part slightly, to taste the
red tears streaming from the
pale flesh beneath her.

Now a night of new awareness,
I weep.

poem by Arthur EdwardsonReport problemRelated quotes
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