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Made whole

jayarrarr:

My words are blades
Honed by emotion’s leather strop
To slice-slice-slice-slice-slice
Paper-thin slivers of your heart.

I’ll sweep them into my hand,
And hold them there and marvel —
Too pretty to eat,
But I am a writer, so —

I turn my words into glue
Paste the pieces back together
And give it back to you. 


 Boldogkőváralja, Hungary


 Boldogkőváralja, Hungary