Motion

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Motion,
as in the way
the feathers on my dream catcher
drift away...
Every time I turn on my ceiling fan.
Motion,
as in the way
the dog hairs on my bed rock,
back and forth,
with each breath I take.
Motion,
as in the way
your lips curl,
into a Cheshire cat grin
and say "What?",
every time you catch me staring into your beautiful eyes.





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