When hurt,
The prospect of change
Calms the heart.
Heart feels ochre moonlight,
Heliotrope;
Brief pulses
Of electric-cotton bliss.
In the newest blue
Before the sunrise.
Still inside this warmth
Silent through the night,
Lest there's need to speak.
Whispering with palms
Cupped 'round skull
Pulsations dance past
The nerves of my ear
To know this not be a dream
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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