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Being in plain rest, a sigh of thought for my dryness.
Dunes of cold colors between which I look fountain.
Footprints perhaps meaning a hint.
The time passing or perhaps acting.
And myself I find here.

Looking at the horizon where appear to have some.
Taking a moment to clear my sight and to control my emotion.
The last stretch, careful my step.
I wanting to believe the waves there not water but honey.
I approach and I approach it.
But it does not appear to be closer.

I starting to think if confusion instead of that conversation.
I trying not to lose hope.
That key is to breathe deeply is told.
And to strip of my mind some parts of dense fabric.
But nor even ooze behind the mirage.
At must envisaged some prudence or shyness.
Nothing like pure pansy at all.


© 2022 a k v

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