• A cruel brush of Air
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The turgid brush of air against the prickled skin makes cold the rush of blood.

Sharpened claws dull the suggestive brows in adolescent men left for fails of fancy.

Whimsy drops and rises in a room filled with torn scraps of words lying on the carpeted floor.

A fallen sentiment twists it’s way on a light breeze beyond the last opened window.

The night begins to drape it’s mood across the throng so gently.

Men leave quickly and women gape across the room with jeers bellowing in the distance.

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