the smoke
from her fire
makes you blink,
rub your eyes.
it fogs the present,
hides the past. she
is two sticks rubbed
together over
kindling and dry paper.
you can only imagine
if the flame grows
higher, spreads
like wild fire.
from her fire
makes you blink,
rub your eyes.
it fogs the present,
hides the past. she
is two sticks rubbed
together over
kindling and dry paper.
you can only imagine
if the flame grows
higher, spreads
like wild fire.
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