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Gothica
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Under the Dock Leaves
You slide across the branches, Your glitter is fertile pollen, You're shadows in the shape of leaves. A wind that ripples the crest of waves against the current, You caress the rivers but you are the springs.
Your eyes: buds which are moistened by the dew, Beyond webs of obscurity.
The branches swing you Then you glide on your transparent wings.
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