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through this storm of cloud and wind
a fluid looking glass shines pure, untouched
an ever-changing pattern of purple silk
only, always also the same
this warm silhouette waits
with fingertips pressed against liquid glass
in beautiful ambivalence
this innocent contentment lives within
patterns engraved in spirals deep
there is only this secret place

things that have no meaning
within an upside down emptiness
my heart struggles to forget
this deafening silence in my ears
soothed once again
falling sleepy in soft whisper
this warm low melody
his truth, this trust
fingertips melting through mirrored reflection
wine, salt, the hypnotic spice of tea
drawing in this knowing embrace
of who i am
only this place
to cast away all else

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