into the
horizon where the burning coin sinks,
a soul beats
against mine under the same covers as nights before.
Our bodies
infest the cotton, but where are our voices?
Soft
apples glow under the light, tough bones grazing.
Staring
into your bright wells imprisoning dark, chilling winds, my heart opens anew.
Our laughter
echoes along darkened walls inked with memories.
The nets
are raised, choppy waters biting the loosely threaded ends.
Your winter
storms—hard, slushy and wet—leave frost at my doorstep.
You are
the breath in my chest, making it sink and rise, rise and sink.
The blue
stars tremble in the vast black seas above,
as the
sea breeze glides across my face like the flutter of wingless butterflies.
A blade
slices,
like a
dancer, your words across the air.
Now the
clocks of the world stop, as if frozen in a dream,
floating.
The
night has dropped below my feet and swallowed me whole.
Touch my
soul, oh dearest one, won’t you touch my soul once more?
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