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Feb 2017
I hang on his every word
Like a wriggling worm From the beak of lovely bird

He's the safe I'll never crack
The elusive dancer covered in black

He terrifies and confounds me
And I don't even think he see's

He is the closed book that I can never open
All the words I wish to say but can't be spoken

He's the poem, that I can never write
For me, he's the moon glowing at night

My closed book, who's stories I'll never know
Because I'm the desert, and he's the snow
So maybe, just maybe, it does snow in the desert;) He said it does. Sometimes.
Written by
Gidgette  UnReality
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