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Arden Falls
Aug 31, 2018 · 1 min read

Do you ever hang in place?
A languid breath squeezed from my pores,
Like the air in a late-August day,
Not yet captured by yours.

I see you navigate each whirlpool, free;
You have never needed my graces.
They seem less like bodies to me,
Their twisting hands and smiling faces.

If I twist the knob and fuel my escape above the fray?
Then I might come to you and we both might float away.

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Arden Falls

Written by

Author of poetry and short fiction and compulsive day-dreamer. Get in touch with me at ardenfallswrites@gmail.com. They/them.

The Junction

The Junction is a digital crossroads devoted to stories, culture, and ideas. Our interests are legion.

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