Confluence

By
A space in my mind.
Between the white willows in the corner,
a stream frozen in time, yet moving at the speed of light.

A table, so peculiar, it was not to be believed, with ornate and anomalous designs. Deep black, in white perfection.

No flaws, no imperfections.
No colour, no sound.
Beautiful.

A bed as red as blood,
beckoning. Attention-grabbing harridan.

Not a roof, there was no roof.
In descending, raindrops kill all.
The trees, the stream, the table, the bed.
All ridden with a myriad of imperfections.
So imperfect.
Yet, so perfect.
Perfection in imperfections.

Beautiful





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