MEGAN KELLY

Below, where the light seeps

Through the surface, falling

Into the bellies of white clay,

Damp in the puddles of light.

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Their flesh scorched by it's weight,

Here it is collected,

Pooled, Drawn from the feverish Skin.

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A vessel carries the liquid. 

To be burnt above pale fire.

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The remnants examined.

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Bottled.

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Preserved.