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Rated: E · Prose · Other · #2274879
Prose about losing Paul
Stars walked a
golden moon path
seeking your hand,
Your hands were covered in syrupy leaves
Smelling of maple
Stars blossomed under your
hands, but your eyes focused
on lotuses that stole your stare

Stars are blotting from a sky
that a fire smudged with red and orange
Garden of peony and tender violet below
goes dark with each whip of French
lotus

til finally, peony and violet are gone
Destruction rendered by your hands





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