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besides your voice
besides your voice,
your face, your warm
palms, your heart
trembling when
whispers caress
my ear, flooding my
blood like a skilled
sculptor ready to
break the marble,
so that angels can
come out to take
my hand: - let’s go
my child, come,
let's fly to the
nest of stars,
in the air, crushing
your chest,
- let's go
this is just a dream
Copyright ©
Maria Mitea
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