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The moon

In the evening with my eyelashes I kill all the events of the day I choke perceptions and reveries green That could be real Pending dream. In the evening with my fingers I spin yarns For your sweet bedlams… “I’ll

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Posted in Invisible stories, Iron Tales, My poems, 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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