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Post by Bobby Slais on Dec 16, 2007 8:53:08 GMT -5
It’s not the season to sing but she does, hushed and alone, inspired by a shivery clutch of roses, placed eye level upon her vanity.
The flowers hung upside-down for weeks, far away from despoil. Now brought back to life with one glimpse, with a fleece of wind, with one reflection of that indelible kiss. His refrain boxed inside her hearken back to the day.
The petal’s hue has slightly tapered like settled blood. Clinging to the stem, she senses the leave's quiver seemingly in rhythm, with the pungent resound of her heart, drumming along to the song he has left her with.
Bobby 2oo6/o7
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