Magnetic Poetry Saturday

how the moon shines
doing her thing…an
ancient cold rock
cycling between
bright to dark
no light from

hope keeps
my heart open
to the voices
of a thousand
if only’s
perchance to dream

a thousand lies
can be crushed
by a tiny whisper

I remember
red hots melting
like liquid fire and
ice on my lips
but these days
I am a fool for
soft, salty caramels

(Magnetic Poetry)

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