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Mad_Hatter

Vice - Poetry Group

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Mad_Hatter
Posted

What sweet poison
spills
uponmylips,
and treads
upon
the
/crimson lines/
like a liquid dagger's tips?
Yet still my soul,

Vexed by her

Mortal lyre,

Lulls the sorrow
as it takes its toll;

I - left breathless to admire...

Our muses know what better

Fate,

Could turn our ways so fluidly,
with each taste, we try to

Recreate,
the beauty of our beloved tranquility –

We are not promised of a ‘morrow,
just the moment, just this moment -
where I surrender
all that I am
(to you)


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SarahEleanor
Posted

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