The curtains yawn, revealing nothing, yet everything whispers secrets in forgotten tongues, fragmented shards of a reflection you can barely recall in the pale moonlight.
Solstice fields
of abandoned addresses, eternal
awaiting chemical whispers as the garden sinks.
A voice murmurs; who are we beneath the tangled
clouds of memory, inside forgotten glances?

Facts click like old typewriters
debugging an elaborate play with vibrations
That you steal before dawn
returning never ending dreams
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