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Lit Match

The autumn wind
plucks away at the plumes,
(loves me, loves me not)
and makes wishes in the wells
of its own worry.

A dancer in the night
free of glory, free of praise,
tiptoes across the sea:
just
dances,
waiting for the rain to fall.

(Loves me, loves me not)

Who
who
who, but no one

answers

but the dips in time...

(Loves me, loves me not
loves me, loves me
loves me not.)
























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