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Curled like an ampersand around a telephone that never rings in time with the words that sing in her ears, She waits again. Her hands and lips cold-blooded mercenaries that ****** what she can’t quite hold with silence and questions. with ellipses and time. So she pushes again seeking definition. But finding the horizon has never been so hard. Her vision so thoroughly blurred. And the sunsets force her closer to a Something she can’t quite believe in. So she pulls what she knows into herself, rolls into a familiar shape and waits for a phone that has always been ringing, A voice she isn’t ready to hear.
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May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 5:37 PM UTC
The Missed Calls
Curled like an ampersand around a telephone that never rings in time with the words that sing in her ears, She waits again. Her hands and lips cold-blooded mercenaries that ****** what she can’t quite hold with silence and questions. with ellipses and time. So she pushes again seeking definition. But finding the horizon has never been so hard. Her vision so thoroughly blurred. And the sunsets force her closer to a Something she can’t quite believe in. So she pulls what she knows into herself, rolls into a familiar shape and waits for a phone that has always been ringing, A voice she isn’t ready to hear.
anne-m-1
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May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 5:37 PM UTC
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