Swing Goes The Song – Unhinged Poem

A minute given to a miracle,

a window used as a mirror,

we weave a dream through the pretence of hope,

displaying our follies in grandeur,

while our secrets are buried in holes,

music not played,

songs unsung,

a mythical creature,

an orgasm not spun,

when the seed was sewn,

the hand was freed,

a glutinous bastard,

a reflection,


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