deepundergroundpoetry.com
Flame
Pitchblack twirls reap my soul,
Gusts of black transforms to smoke,
Wantonly dancing to solemn silence,
Leaping like magic, a supple stroke
of willowy grace.
Gusts of black transforms to smoke,
Wantonly dancing to solemn silence,
Leaping like magic, a supple stroke
of willowy grace.
Published 16th Jan 2012
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