tiny dancer
every day
a new debacle
and i fly
with
the tiny turquoise strings
wrapped around
my
shoulder
blades like december
well
it's almost january now and
with every twirl
i twirl
a new
day of time
and love
(art)
is a terrible
thing to waste
i should know i
stomp it to death
every day
with the rhythm
of the rumba,
making
my own dance.
every time.
and
i love it.
i
love it...
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