Breathless

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The dreary, Melochotic sunshine
of an winter’s mid-
after
noon
-however hard the sunlight yearns
The earl clouds
( of blinking eyes and newly
Swept bliss)
Surely remain here.

It slowly creeps into a room-
of machine washed floors
and
hidden decay
filtering, full of breath
only to be
hidden by monochrome.

A wandering desert-
the only rain comes from a faucet,
we all sit
in front of ebony tables
peering through one another
although
we feel
numb- like the calf to cold-
only we,
of people to the clouds





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