A game of words and beauty played out across the intarweb.
Left in the winter.
Splitting like fruit, over-ripe.
Drawn off with the storm waters.
Astray, astray, the searchers astray.
Warm my hand in your pocket? I will.
And so,
As if,
To say:
“…”
great pacing
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1 comment:
great pacing
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