Innocent Flower, Is Love To A Snail...
J
James McLain
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Salt was a trap laid so still at night, around
her blush so pink, frail bloom hid the eyes of heaven, softy
dripping is necktie in dew form.
A branch of eternity, blows her wind, I tumble in to the scents
of her yesterdays, washed clean, by her breath.
The bamboo sighs, in regret, sprouting one more long leaf.
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