A poem simply sounds the bell, of that which words could never tell.

EXOTIC

How exotically curious
It is to be,
Although,
Of infinite possibility,
There is no variety
Of me,
The mirror for a soul,
And its rejoicing.
I know not,
The magic
That lets me be,
But basking
In its supremacy,
Love rebounds
From its contraction,
Seeking only
To be free.
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