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Tuesday, November 01, 2011

Stabbed through with her smile, I thrive

The eight’s double curve’s shaking.
It grows to nine,
and reading, I read a word
at the same time
she’s speaking it to me. I’ve
looked to the sky
and wondered, can a pure blue
flutter? Can it dive?
Can it drive its peeks of white
deep into me?
It can, and does, and it is
no less, her smile.
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