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I saw four fiery tigers race across
the event horizon.
Yesterday there were six.
They must be giving up on the plan.

Would they lasso the sun
to keep prisoner at the end of time?
Darkness, death, ice... what am I,
what was I, what will I be?
Perhaps I was always just an idea.

And when love goes
it first takes off its shoes
not wanting to leave footprints
in its own ashes.

Today by Rose Mary Boehm | Poetry Fabric Box

$15.00Price
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