most days my broken fingers stumble over white sheets
feeble shadows
penning words into fashionable jewelry
you wear around your heart
delicately but oh so quickly
ink black as black as black
pitches across ivory skin of dead trees
as they hold onto my thoughts
like tiny blossoms
letters and words born from a well
rise in alliance
forming hives filled with movement
bees and words
drone in a particular rhythm
both offer honey
sweet dripping nectar
then sting without mercy
alas they all die silent deaths
in the wastebasket beside my desk
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