An old wooden chair with red velvet upholstery
Whose dust shone like stars freshly fallen
Its creaks were not picked up by vibrating magnets
But the seat was still hot from descent.
Years of followers that encircled a tight belt of silence
Quiet space left for a recluse.
How he finally climbed down
From the words we could not hear
That we weren't quiet yet ready to feel.
As concrete as tin memories left buried in a box,
Its love that burned your heart
And smoked you out like a fox.
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