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Winter Wind
January 13, 2016
I am hung
between the three hands
of the loose strangle
which keep my breathing soft.
A foreign language
dissolves when it touches
the moisture of my tongue,
destroyed by breaths which
have yet to reach the outside air.
Three breaths dance
just below my frost bitten nose.
Two of which spiral around each other,
they push and pull, give and take.
The third’s strong breeze
dissolves the two.
© Mike A., Newark, DE
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