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White Owl

Nov 12, 2024

1 min read

Thomas Quin

Black tea eyes,

Steep into me —

And flow through my words

Like capillaries on the page;

To unfold over the sky.


Buying time with a sip

As oceans yawn, 

And lap at the foot of my bed.

The white owl opens its eyes,

Wide enough to see right through me.

Nov 12, 2024

1 min read

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Copyright © 2024 by Thomas Quin

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