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Cold Feet

I’ve got nasty old cold feet
My wife hates to touch them with her own
My toenails scratch her soft skin
Even the hangnails leave white scratches on her legs
If only I could warm them up again
If only I could reach down and clip the nails
Soften the edges
But I’ve been dead for a week now
I’ve tried to tell her to let me go
I must smell horrible by now
But she always said I was her life
She said she’d die before me, or with me
So now we wait

September 21, 2000

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