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Love in line (1)

Love drips out of my lines. There is not ink But sweetness and joy protruding in small afternoons befuddled in glimpses of light dancing on leaves and ruby flowers… When skies glance at the coolness of moonshine and butterflies kept

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Posted in Invisible stories, My poems, Words in English, Wordsmith

“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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