she combs her hair as if
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1 |
each strand contains a piece
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2 |
of a prophecy:
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3 |
noble and purple and green,
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4 |
surrounding screeching trumpets
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with the sublimity of how
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6 |
her mouth moves
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when her words move into me;
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8 |
each strand forcing me into a
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9 |
rainbow-colored shoot
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with twisted limbs
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landing in a room of plastic balls,
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a seraphic wonderland.
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each and every strand
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of which i could count those very nights
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15 |
i spend kissing that beautiful,
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adventure-ridden mind.
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17 |