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The Book


Gripping the cold in the palm of her hands,
she walked like an unspoken night...
...through the untreaded trails of my mind.
The thoughts ran shallow through my fingertips...

Faded rainbows we chased on the edge of uncertainty...
Our songs were dumb... the butterflies, likewise.

Rusted melodies on the tip of silence...
Weary words that went astray...
Fucked up flowers...
Sunrays smeared with guilt...

A chapter that choked on the blank verses,
and it ended, that book of love...

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