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Nov 162012
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

by A. J. Huffman

 

I slip

magically

through the bars

of your dreams.

Falling

in pieces

on your lap.

You like to be the one.

To put me together.

As I am your angel.

Occasionally

attached to wings.

But mostly to strings.

You hope they will keep me.

Moving.

But solid

is a shape

I cannot stand.

And too soon

I will be gone.

Back

among the mist.

Called

by my sister.

The moon.