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Black Cat |
Invisible is the ghost; you glance with caution hoping it to pass
But there it is; purple sheen on ebony fur; eyes penetrate to capture your
wary gaze
The way a madman pounds on the cushions of his dwellings, hoping for the
humid air he breaths to pull him in
Then as if charging herself, as though from some unconscious state, she
turns her face studying her audience
Her eyes like small yellow jewels beckoning you in
Feline beauty at its best, but in a breath, you see yourself
Minute, suspended in pools of amber, like two extinct flies frozen in time
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by E. Maxwell |
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