“It’s a lost love , not a lost life.”/Sharp knives can make jelly from fingers/ in such free play; all known from you./ Deftly, with rope and chain/,you free yourself/defiant before me./ Paper to tinder,/fire to smoke,/ advent of downpours signals/a serious magic caged the trapped in your red perfumes. At last I can finally see what you meant to stay unknown.
Lure Of A Hunter
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Poetry in Motion 