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Silence MAG
June 16, 2015
What used to be light and breezy, like
warm summer kisses, like cool white stones and ivy walks
Turns
its face to look at me
Turns
so I can see every freckle on its lips
and in its eyes
Turns
and grabs me with its sticky fingers
(fingers i used to adore more than yours)
They push me down in the cold
You see me scream
But your stone is pulled back by its cracks
© Jeanne H., Pembroke, MA
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