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Swallowed Butterflies

Now I keep a dead rose in my pocket pressed in old pages of a faded book. To hold you like a palm stone of garnet I’ve stuck you right inside the story’s hook. A frozen bud I can see how we met, feel my gut fall with that very first look. I peered into those dark skies of your eyes, at once the storm swallowed my butterflies.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2025




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Book: Reflection on the Important Things