Crisis is part of me

Bending neither to wind or rain.
Did not my hand touch your hair?
Did not my fingers touch your lips?
And my eyes kept on
our beautiful dream.
From a chink in a half-closed sky.
A voice came from the distance.
Splitting the coldest air.
Its fragrant scent a tiny life all again.
And the world turns to look.
But we are gone.
I long for that day. ​


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