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Created on: February 27, 2007 Last Updated: May 14, 2007
Curry
I look down at my fingers and wonder,
What is to be of these stains?
Caused by the love of something that makes me the same,
For I love,
Or is it the shame of that which I love?
For it seems as something else,
So must these stains be washed away,
And this love forgotten.
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