sometimes my words slip out of me -
like petals slip silently through idle fingers
like water trickles over soft beds of moss
like light cascades gold between dark branches
making dust appear as though fairies have been there
and sometimes
my words feel like
stones being
tossed into
a placid lake
under the
hot sun
and shadeless
dead tree
or like the
awkward silence
after an argument
with a person
you haven't
loved long
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