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Penchant
This
poet
and her pen
wish no parting,
like a blessed union,
as two souls, incumbent,
bear junk without the other.
My pen may be a bridge for vines.
My pen may be a Hit in summer.
My pen may be a relic by winter...
Pen and poet, we unearth elegance
within plain paper. We may rescue
boats from falling wreck to shallows.
We. captains of the Ether,
lyrical lifelines,
oxygenation,
painting used homes
into fame
ruin
lies.
Copyright ©
Trina Layne
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