I haven’t heard that song in months

Fingers on dust, thumping, lips on lamentations blossom

blue-green petals, tear off like scales, spinning, spinning upward

away, ever away, half-awake, intrepid in this dreamer’s

quarrel,

let your shoulders fall, you lashes dip –

you are not really defenseless, and knowing this

you lie atop the precipice,

you doze within the coliseum,

and marvel at the unfamiliar color that lingers on the stones

 

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