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Your touch turned me to glass
fragile and breakable
rippled like a flaw
bubbled and shatterable.

And you would slowly keep knocking
harder each time
after the first soft smooth run of the palm
and a wash with the water of the eyes.

Then the last knock was a hit
– hard and rough but a sure shot.


Like a gun-shot well aimed
at the heart of a glass figurine,
that never bled but the cracks
shattered into a million shards,
scattered and spread everywhere.

The bang of the hammer still resonates the air.

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