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the origin of mist

night pulls open the curtains,
taking her time – slowly
letting the moonlight press
cold fingertips against her skin
she spins webs, hanging stars within
their spirals. the end of her day
approaches, she sweeps up a ball
of dreams into her fist – the ones
that slipped from her grasp
settle into the dawn, becoming mist

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written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: amble