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Mar 2013
Puzzle pieces laid out flat,
Why don't they fit like the
Dried up canals on our palms
Used to fit?

Maybe the persistent mist has
Given up -
Decided to land
On the Sunflowers
Instead.

The only Puzzle I touched,
Hard plastic between
Long fingers.
Cold, Complicated, Confused.

Shock my brainwaves into
Reality -
With the warmth of
Unfamiliarity.

Trace the blades of my shoulders
With your electric paintbrushes,
Creating a masterpiece in me
That is craving
To come to life.

Show me where the pieces
Spoon and weave together
In the perfect harmony
Of our voices.

Finally.
Complete.
Murphy
Written by
Murphy
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