I’m feeling


as dust floats and drifts
collects and settles

silently around us

while softly covering
life like a lonely and
unseen winter snow

moving over a long
drawn spread of forgotten time

which creeps as
slowly as the sun
rays reaching out

through double glass panes
that rest vertically and ajar
held in place high
above that lonely sunday street

i miss u sb

do you still write on a page or
screen of white

the thoughts that float through
your head like that
dust in the air

moving so gently and slowly
as you lie in bed half awake
and half asleep

covered by blankets
and fuzzy pink cotton

and through the open pane
a slight whisp of fresh

summer air breathes in
and out

in and out
in and out

circulating with the light dust
and those lazy rays of light

and you smile closing your
while resting your eyes

to let the blue depths of your sweet soul soak in the world around you

as you lay on your back and
wonder and dream

and do you ever wonder sb
what it would be like

on a page of white
to stand alone bathed in a soft warm light

standing there with me by your side
and a knife in your hand

that falls and cuts through my soul

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