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The blazon
March 14, 2016
Her eyes are like an infinite dark abyss, never ending.
Behind those eyes lies the unknown.
Her hair spirals out like vineyards on a hot Tuscany afternoon.
And just as it gets silent her laugh will spark a pleasant sound equivalent to a million jasmines.
She is a roaring thunderstorm and a rush of cold air.
She is a blossoming flower through the cracks.
She is.
© Keenan C., Kannapolis, NC
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My wonderfully strong mother