A stutter on the time line is a shudder on the fine line of
After a collapse, just where do we stand?
Where is the placement of the face of your hand?
But I demand no explanation,
The end of one's path is another's initiation.
In a friendly reminder, my mind's voice mentioned
That every word is a progression that has its intent.
There are implicit indications behind music and doors
There are whispers of wishes in which starlight is stored
There is a beauty within, in and out of my sight,
And in the many little breaths that caress a lesser night.
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