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Diána Bósa Nov 2016
Last night when the first
snow fell I was hovering
on the doorstep of

yours anxiously and
wringing my hands without a
dare to knock, even

my voice was laced by
unspoken poetry and
only stuttering

came out of my mouth.
I wanted to act; to love
out loud and fill the

space in between, but
under the shadow of a
doubt this void was made to grow.

— The End —