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Gnarled

In a Georgian small-town summer,
The sly air drapes warm, sopping dishrags
Lovingly upon your shoulders,
Pushing you deep into the spongy ground.
The cicadas' drones circle your head
Like rings of Saturn, echoing
Spinning your resolve till
It can't walk straight.
Frayed ropes of old tire swings
Twine gently through your fingers and
Across your collarbone.
Cradling your neck,
They croon to you,
Begging you to stay
Until autumn.



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SongBird04 said...
Jun. 10, 2013 at 1:35 am
Aww! I love this! It really captures the picture and is very sweet! :)
 
Padfoot507 This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. replied...
Jun. 10, 2013 at 3:31 pm
Thanks songbird! I'll check out some of your work! (:
 
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