you are a poet in the quiet
moments, a whittler of
words, slowly paring down
to the meaning of it. don't
silence your voice with the busyness,
errands and agendas of little
consequence that will
or won't get done. breathe
and it is of more importance
than anything else you've ever done.
this is my dream; i'm walking
down a corridor and i'm alone.
truly alone. there's the sound of my
feet padding across the tiled floor
and then nothing. silence like
gravity. it becomes black.
and i think of you.
but i'm not falling in
love with you, you so far away and
perfect in that distance. with
your details blurred like memory or a good
monet. and i keep filling in your
features, or weak spots, as if
i'm dreaming you in to existence.
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