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Oct 2018
pause me at my cellar door,
            thwart my plans to descend;
the dog doesn’t recognize the moon in the sky,
            but only sees its simplicity reflecting across the water.

fire that arrow into the dark,
            we fear only what we cannot see.
speak until your lungs are gravel,
            no one can move your tongue but you.
snoteropedopebloatcopefloatyotewoat
de Negre
Written by
de Negre  17/M/waiting for God
(17/M/waiting for God)   
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