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A place burned behind my lids, white spectral sun enveloping, softly, lapped like fresh milk
by my clear and greedy eyes guilty and forever longing curious
pressed gently into my warm palms a tender object, a sensitive brush of fingers on electric skin but (Oh) it'll still be there, blooming, crashing out of memory like white foam- lilies of vivid stone when I get back, when I open (them) again and again and again like new wings, not delicate but strong
it's that feeling that it wasn't just a dream after all I was truly open-opening, unfolding, unsealed I dreamt of the things I can do now I wanted them, they smoldered like coals, flickered like insect wings caught in my hands, crushed in desperate, nervous fingers, sticky those desires, they were bitten between dry lips, and held between quick breath, pulled between snarled hair, flattened beneath restless feet, twisted into swirling tingling knots deep in my cramped belly
but my eyes flickered, flicked stung open, my fingers unfolded, fluttered something unfurled and stretched out, danced
it is, it is not, a romantic notion because everything is wide, wide, wide open! little past, small and hopeful, come to the future with me, I have cracked its thin shell.
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