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Undark

With you I have hovered Above the sea In storm I smelled the tropical dew Of winter flowers… I have seen clouds Dissolute like dreams Of perpetual summers… With you I stopped Breathing Over the color of a Rose. Red

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Posted in Invisible stories, Iron Tales, My poems

“Language is not like the sun,
heating and scorching
but like the moon
keeping secrets
and the arcane magic of the night
throwing stars
in the lilacs’ claws
till dawn.” -Iulia Halatz

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