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Jun 2020
She, is that flower unopened,
in quieter moments,
she washes him clean,
a theme behind secrets
not of ether, nor clay,
but of somewhere between.

He, with his pallid complexion,
loves nothing of Earth,
even less of the air,
for all that are given
are places or houses
that she cannot share...
A W Bullen
Written by
A W Bullen  Cardiff
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