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A Collector of Hearts
My heart lies on your shelf
Congealed in its emotions
Swimming in that psuedo-formaldahyde
We call love
I wonder if you ever
Take it out and look at it;
Hold it in your hands?
Think about
What a beautiful speciman it is...?
You poor, blind
Kerouac-toting
Predator--
It was yours
From the moment
I laid eyes on you

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