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Dec 2015
In the twist of a sweet winter morn I am
buried, yet no more lifeless
than the slumbering roots of this yesterday
forest. Brush the snow off my eyelashes--yes, just so--and find
that I am but an icy glow, transparent beneath
the fairy touch of your marble lips.
Ayana Harscoet
Written by
Ayana Harscoet
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