suddenly the ripples on the surface of still water
begin to make sense
like a dream pattern woven by the moving breeze
writing messages for you, you, secrets that you longed to know
as the moonlight pours all around, in all agreeable arrogance, its own
the silver sheet surface with foot steps of your secrets -
silent whispers hum inside your ear
The Golden Tempo Of The Dream Machine
21 hours ago
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