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A slow breaking and mending
of blood and bone
fit for the poorest
of ivory souls.
Pour tomber, pour courir,
pour mourir; no less!

Mademoiselle
No one, to you,
do tell.
A dream,
perhaps a nightmare,
that died in your arms
much too long ago.


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Thursday, July 26, 2007
In awe
This is what happens: you speak, and I remember; you move, and my eyes follow (all the while betraying the nonchalance in my face -which, coincidentally, pays no homage whatsoever to the Truth that you make every scar worth peeling back).

There is so much fear in me, attesting to my personal Truths (that you are you, and I am Disaster)..but, just as you've given me every possible reason to see past all the damn hurt, you are my very reason for going beyond all this damn fear.

With whatever it is that's happening, I really am happy (:

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