A wavering time,
locking each section
of breath into
rhythmic
casems.
Each fleeting look,
dances beneath
fluttering eyelids.
As a smile
hidden
unmoving
under the skinned shadow.
Is conceived in each
interval of running stream.
Conversation is not limited.
Luck, it seems to have sort
out this particular person.
Luck that has it
either way like a sphere
rocking
with or without.
Without for the
persons desires
do not extend
adequately enough
to be in common with mine.
That they may receive
but not result in anything more
than a light
breese
picking up a few
soft red fragments
of lily petals.
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