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Your name is mostly air

Let me take you At the border of a dream Lulled by midnight’s Oars of sleep. Let me love you As I would No one. Let me taste your words Unspoken and lamenting On the back Of your tongue.  

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Posted in Invisible stories, 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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