Being Sick 4/13/2012
I lost my voice to a back alley trench coat,
All smooth shoes and polished words,
Lots of grins and glinting glances backwards.
My dash he dashed with a knife at my throat.
I lost my voice and then he left;
He left me merely whispered croaks
And wisps of spoken throaty chokes.
With lemon tea I remedy the theft.
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