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I Want To Hold It Close

That scenic chorus paints pride blended tears

as suspended droplets thrum euphoria

those watchers notice, its nuance foreign.

They’ve never heeded- never recognised

the harmony befriending delicate words

that welcomed wrung emotions on inches.

rare colloquial feelings pouring traces

left to the table.

The playing record that tugs at my arm

to appear closer, pulling at ...

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poetrysongthoughtsfeelingsthe rarest birdsalison moyet

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