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Nov 2020
She wakes in a puddle of sunlight.
Her hands asleep beside her.
Her hair draped on the lawn
like a mantle of cloth.

The garden around her gleams.
The last pieces and particles
of her dreams
plummet
from the projector
in the cinema of her soul.

And the sky above is blue...
spilling milk and blueberries
from an upturned bowl.
Roman Payne
Written by
Roman Payne  42/M/Paris
(42/M/Paris)   
451
 
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