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Poetry By
Nita Sembrowich
At five o'clock, the beach house closes. back through the suffocating tunnel like soul almost, so nearly free reluctantly, loath to relinquish the light.
My unknown love: I keep tapping, tapping, I know you're there. If I can't break through, I won't despair. Maybe one day you'll see it, and disapprove. Maybe you'll write your name, too. |
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