in the trail of her forge77ing
i imagine what it is to l°°k from someone’s eyes
the strangest rose—>
and a whispering among the lights
)the dreaming has spilled
to cover me in the afterglow of creation***
to return in fain†ness, an afterthought of memory
then to awaken one @nother’s vision
all the curves that mater1al1ze, all together++
the ^look^ of love in her eyes
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