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Bundled up in a peace
as thick as raw honey
caressed and protected
by soft folds and
layers of shadows
treading in dreams while
grounded to the kind earth
by your calm breathing,
I am half awakened by
the blunt rumble of
an airplane flying low
somewhere outside, above
our intertwined forms,
its wing-tip glowing and
marked by the memory
of a place that took
a solemn ceremony to say
a worthy goodbye to,
the sound it makes as
it cruises the air porous
and rounded at the edges,
skimming off the unbroken
surface of the silence.

Briefly,
my mind locks down on
the thought that
the poetry of it all
is just the way
it would have
described your love
if it had a pen and
I were awake.

The words of the poem fall
in a fine, powdery heap
on my pillow and
lull me back to sleep.
.

we3it
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Image source (photographer unknown)

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