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By faeriemouse Date: 2002 Dec 05 Comment on this Work [[2002.12.05.16.28.22545]] |
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By the storm door, she shifts on her feet, Condensation outlining her fingers on the glass. A little black and white pup barely whimpers, licking the skin at her ankles, watching petals float by in the puddles. Yellow buds push up the cement of the path to her garden. She recalls kisses like the first wet snow of January. |