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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Other · #1970650
About the opportunities constantly fluttering by.
Chances are fleeting,

fickle romances,

pleading to dance.



Taken that timing,

defines or makes moot,

vibrating machinations of fate,

the body shakes, waiting,

while the heart beats for haste.



Hope is fascination,

fastening ropes,

tight-ning my throat,

as my feet begin to move.
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