Incomplete Sentence

Spring is an incomplete sentence
Our tongues stumble on
Over and over
Wanting to reorganize it
And the more I shift and turn
It sprouts and grows
More details
And one sentence becomes rows
Of curls and twists, blooming
These words start to overflow
From my mouth
And my lips wish for sunlight
As paragraphs rain upon paper
Spring pools in ink smudges
And I find art in the incomplete


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