Near

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Poetry
Fresh mint leafs
Refreshing my throat,
Yet I keep savouring
Those purple feelings.

And as I sip on this wine
I envisage a time
When I reveal
My meandering thoughts
To an unwanting world.

Spineless fear
That bends out
And sparkles away
In an undeserved manner.

I bow to you,
I levitate,
And all I want
Is to get near.

I just want to sleep.
And to never look back.
I count the golden linings
Above my head
Those ones in the shape
Of crying clouds.

All too near.

The Author

Woman. Floaty. Attached. Dettached. Sudden. Note-scribbler. Citizen of the world. Travelling to the moon and back.

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