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Only After

One quiet liar to another,
slip of our red hot tongues
sharp like thistles

In the deep recesses of our
mind we're seamless, moving
in slow motion

Thorny twigs prick the inside
of our loneliness, letting our
sweet scents flow

Only after do we become frail,
we begin to wilt, twisted and
entwined
Written by tommielynn (Tommie Lynn)
Published
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