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Violets MAG
“Dearest,”
he wrote,
“rejoice.”
And left me a bunch of violets
in a mason jar.
I smile. The color reminds me
of the magical sound of his
laugh when he has a secret.
The color is warm like his cheeks,
but cool like his hands
and decadent like his lips under mine.
It is the color of sinners
and dreamers
and those who refuse
to die unnoticed.
It is the color of beautiful
disturbances
like those that he
creates within my soul
with his irreverent laugh.
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