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Oct 2018
A sliver of light appears,
an angel smiles sweetly
heaving air into my lungs,
expanding like ship sails.
The sun doesn't rise
without your lips tracing hills;
shoulder blades and spinal valleys
reflect bright rays.
Stomp on vital organs,
leave a print so I may follow,
to get lost would be the end,
the perfect wave to pull me under.
Zoe Averill Ren
Written by
Zoe Averill Ren  24/F/FL
(24/F/FL)   
167
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