We will say our goodbyes,
slowly now, like the clouds
whose wise decisions fail
in the
weakest of winds
and only the discerning eye
will remember our previous
commitments- I love you
still and constant.
What do you
think you hear
as the storm stops suddenly
or the exquisitely bright
vision seers an
impressionon the blank, white
canvas of your time?
Does
she move
you... like me?
of clouds, winds, white, impressions
for a newborn time
(that s also very old)
it s right, I think
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