orgami's Diaryland Diary

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d r a w n o v e r t l y

like a chord skulked cross
strings muted with a mist
a chill

deep in the hollow
of the shadow of the vine
winters taste
is bitter and fresh
arrived
survived
and tinged

running red over the thin white
the fangs
of winds that find
what is hidden

what is sought
what is traded
what is bought

but I am alive
I am

1:11 p.m. - 2014-12-04

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