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Nightingale MAG
January 10, 2017
It is carefully strung words woven together
By a thin thread crafted by the lyrics
of a nightingale
They bend and contort
Until they aren’t words anymore
They are feelings and projections
They skim my brain
Skim the most vulnerable parts of me
Gliding on the surface in circular motions
They cannot be held in
They burst from me
In a stream of ruby moonlight
© Alice B., Sarasota, FL
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