copped
his snake hair coils
beneath knit caps
and smoke stained
upper lips.
his knick-knack veins
pumping copper blood
in disregard
to my cold
caring eyes…
(follow my last
smoke filled
inhalation…
…and find me,
with your palms
pressed against flat
glass – let me count
your lifelines)
i want
to be sure
you outlive me.
–Hannah Waterman (emerging poet from Western New York)
Poem of the Month 
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