deepundergroundpoetry.com
new sun
that
morning's
ember,
how it
jumps,
it flies
on the
edge of
rumors,
each
descending
into the
corners
of
my room,
scraping
the
darkness
away,
leaving
my world
smoldering
while the
sun's
bloom
moves on.
morning's
ember,
how it
jumps,
it flies
on the
edge of
rumors,
each
descending
into the
corners
of
my room,
scraping
the
darkness
away,
leaving
my world
smoldering
while the
sun's
bloom
moves on.
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