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The dew on your broken lips,
whispers secrets of a dawn,
like a reflection of remote dreams,
weaving light on your skin of pleasure.
They are delicate caresses
that awaken silent whispers,
the cracks of your words,
keep echoes of times gone by.
In the shadow of a new day
the breeze caresses your being,
and in each drop hides poetry,
a subtle song that begins to be reborn.