Freestyle Poetry 

Treasures of the heart

align themselves

with the tendons of the bare.

When stolen from your grasp

They leave behind a tremourous ache.

Clutches of care

emerse their heat

in the spaces between your finger tips

and when they are snatched

leave behind iciest of flakes.

The moistures of faith

embrace the streaks

on your sulking sukling lips

only to drought out

with unfaithful dying fits.

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