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Jun 2014
words
move like a memory
of golden light
reflecting off
a silver mirror
and falling across
white roses

petals
break off
and land scattered
on the words
strung together
with an angry
line
over
and over
until you can only make out
the tops
of the letters like
l k h f and t
the bottoms
of the letters like
y and g
and the dot
hovering over
the i

the recurring
full stops
commas
in strange places
frequently

if it were
a line
on life
that was touched
by the light
the feather-touch
of crumbling
rose petals
what would the stabbing
line
crossing through
mean?
pluie d'été
Written by
pluie d'été
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