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i watch you walking in january in low heeled boots no buckles your moroccan bag rises falls on your hip i watch you avoid ice i watch the wind lift your hair the hair that i've held too tightly because my cock was in your ass my fingers in your slit i turn away from the window and i see you 7 years old neatly writing for miss hendrikson at your desk and neatly writing i'd sit next to you if i could yes and whisper warnings my mouth too close to your ear |
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