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The Shape of…

The shape of grass

is a cricket.

Sound of silence,

stone baked in the sun.

Smell of love,

a bouquet, reds and white.

Every year, grass whispers to the frost

to turn towards Spring.

At times silence

conveys all I need to hear.

Love sometimes tastes

of strawberry gelato.

Other times, blueberry.

It used to smell of bleach.

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