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Apr 19, 2007 at 7:55am
#1493362
Risky Business Stranger, you, from the dark roads, come to me every night dreamlike, creating a myth of starry hours, but I am made of solitudes, and my sorrow you cannot obscure with seizures of tenderness. Still I, attempt to spin a thin, threadlike bridge to a world newly invented, with a feverish hope that my feet won’t fail me when I cross over to you. Write a poem to the prompt “crossing a thin, thread-like bridge.” ** Image ID #1219461 Unavailable **
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by Joy

