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Baby click

I am happy to write
Those moments I cannot frame
But only store deep inside.
Those smiles will come back
When there days are dark in September
And the family will eat together again.
Your soft hands still touch me
Leaving your smell of curiosity and love.

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Snowy hearts

Cold texture of pure poetry

Falling romantic on the street,

you, snow of this troubled winter,

Warm up my heart.

Unexpected and desired,

You infused magic in a routine too calculated

And hands that only work,

And do not caress enough.

Pigeon ideas

I define my meaning
Picturing those pointy questions
And surrounding myself
With carrots and clear waters
Where baby ideas are born.
The passion of birth
Is a bright light I feed
Like a little girl moves her little hand
To the pigeons.

Inner shouting

The difficulty of looking inside
Is unimaginable
Yet necessary and necessary of training.
My inner voice head to shout
For me to listen
And no volume switch is in sight.
My ear is gentle and too respectful
Of those voices outside
That talk loud over that whisper.

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