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Colors of Quiet

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Your hands, cups of the softest ocher,

blooming freely through ribbons of

fresh light, hugging grassy knolls that

girdle your moving mouth.

Little feet, cherry steps popping in

shades of sweet magnolia, leaps

of the springtime brain that are

sharp and stimulating and hungry.

Lips, quiet and somber, the chaste

curvature into a roiling knot of

webs, gossamer tendrils of the

humblest being, happy solitude.




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