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softerme (2)

winter weaves
a woolen blanket
threat beneath
the snow
warm the thought
of kisses
falling down
tender as
the willing
to remember
days gone by –
and there our purpose
waits
without a sound

preyed upon
prayed apart –
whispers read aloud
tho no one knows
the way of mine
for long
brushed against
convention –
waited thru the night
held you here
as rhyme against
my song

. . .

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