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ten lines for andre breton

On wet stone's deaf
Whistle of sonic disarray,

On the tiles wet with
feathers and gloss,

you fall through mirrors.

Your face births' wide
folding through a strumming
convex mirror.

She kisses a violet
shard holding your tongue,

bleeding dark green.

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theladyblue

theladyblue

17 years 2 months ago

Standing Ovation!!!

Leave it to you to show me up (jk you always show me up!)...outstanding! Always a pleasure now twice as nice! <3 Emarie @~~~~~~~@~~~~~~~@~~~~~~~@~~~~~~~@~~~~~~~@~~~~~~~@~~~~~~~@~~~~~~~@~~~~~~~@~~~~~~~@ 'My prayer is a rapture in blue' - The Ink Spots 'My Prayer' 1939