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Click hereYou shine in sunlight:
as bright fiery hair
singes your shoulders,
warming your face
as you toss your head.
Your fingers stoke
the strands in a flowing
cascade drawing me to flame.
I reach out to touch
your hair, breathe
your scent, suddenly
you quickly flash away:
an image on a screen
words branding a picture:
searing a digital tapestry
into the phone lines.
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 37,500 poems.
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Very Consistent to here:
a digital tapestry
into the phone lines.
I would take these two lines and shove them in another poem, they are good, but at the end of this one you want something that either really burns/ or quenches