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I’m in love with your interrupted thoughts, trails lost and forgotten. I walk with you to their ends— When you blow off the gathered dust, the sunlight catches it gently in trembling hands; glistening listless moments, suspended, lingering in your breath like I first did at your door. The western sky spells your name, but nomad memories pick up tents, faces turn to sand. You haven’t changed at all... My fingers walk the deepening trails in your sunset hands.
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Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 11:39 PM UTC
on becoming a stranger
I’m in love with your interrupted thoughts, trails lost and forgotten. I walk with you to their ends— When you blow off the gathered dust, the sunlight catches it gently in trembling hands; glistening listless moments, suspended, lingering in your breath like I first did at your door. The western sky spells your name, but nomad memories pick up tents, faces turn to sand. You haven’t changed at all... My fingers walk the deepening trails in your sunset hands.
12 January 2014
philip-finch
Written by
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 11:39 PM UTC
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