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MEMOIR

Of a distant past,
Of a blurry present,
and of silent longing,
under the lunar crescent. . .

Vaporizing hues of pale
cover my skin with paints of gray,
comfort me unto a table,
put your index finger amidst your lips,

boring gaps,
hidden in a den.

remembering the
Memoirs of a forgotten existence. . .

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REMEMBER

The Day before. . . I was in control then, swaying hips and gentle bends, flesh and blood, Oh! how they meld! Trust and Thrusts, Our swing and waltz, a forgery of tragedies written in our souls