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Now the stars bruise
like wintered fruit. I pluck
their skins from my sky,
one by one, my hands
stung with their frost.

The Orchard of My Bones
779
11

Ani Eldritch

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--

John E Marks
John E Marks

Written by John E Marks

1.1K Followers
254 Following

Beauty is the only thing that time cannot harm. Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood. T. S. Eliot

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