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Contributor: Gianna Annunzio

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Her hands lift to the sky, caressing constellations
Sweeping night to day
She borrows light for her own insides.
Taking and not returning, she has stolen
All her lonesome life
She’s dark until she takes the night
Gowns of galaxies, Bedouin in beauty
Her heat is rotting, color wakes the dying inside
Wandering through dawn without her hands
Drowned in nebulae, idly
Until she pours the world from her fingertips
When the sun rises overhead, dreaming of day
She goes away as light slips through
A misplaced galaxy

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Hopeful creative writer, sometimes poet, full time Beatles historian. You've never heard of me.


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