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How many nights spent together, afraid of your noise. My first lines, immature like august grape, took form thanks to your mechanical precision, a poetry made of metallic hammering, the strength of fingers guided by vision unleashed on those defenseless letters - my voice; and for this I'll be forever grateful, dear old, at-rest, unforgotten, alphabet machine. By: Lumase Copyright © All Rights Reserved Taken: April 4, 2008 Uploaded: April 4, 2008 ( View at Flickr.com ) Click link above for correct copyright license. |
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