9th December, 2006
Photopoesis 1: This scar shimmers in the afterglow
You, my dear, are sculpted poetry. Your lithe figure speaks the curves of your soul, your eyes the notes of a song still unsung. We smell the rosemary in your tears as we taste the music of your smile — it is the same smile that conceals the death of stars. We hear you singing-living-mourning in this vacuum, where feather-light happiness once resided; so tonight, the nightingale can only bleed silence.
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