The whiskey settled murky,
like silky marsh displayed,
to isolate the pain of breath,
your absence brought decay.
My mind befuddled darkly,
mouth was closed and tight,
the razor edge of brutal words
did race through deepest night.
Your lanky form left shadows,
the puddle of your love,
did trap the ripples of my grief;
froze hope and would not move.
http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2013/11/17/wordle-135-a-bakers-dozen/
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