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Author's note: This is an eclective mix of poetry I've written over the past few years. There's no real rhyme or reason to it. I named this collection "Trinkets," mainly because they're tiny moments in time I've recorded and collected over the years, like little treasures.



Our eyes meet,

Our fingers brush.

My heart skips a beat.

I look down,

And you away,

My face red with heat.

I loved you,

You claimed the same.

What was I to do?

I was blind,

And you were bored.

Now I know the truth.

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