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The sound of black waters—
I inhale.
Spring burns him within me,
I exhale fine fumes.
And thus I am forgetting
The way a blue night closes over his throat.
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YOU ARE READING
FORLORN NIGHTS OF SPRING
PoetryI am his siren, and I sing out for him; FORLORN NIGHTS OF SPRING is a collection of poetry. © 2017-2018 ally maková, all rights reserved.
