lachrymose she whispered
consoling
no one
doll-eyed flatness
bounced
against silver paint
buttons
unsewn and floating
timeworn
absence
acknowledged
corridored ink
mummied song
white-flag enrobed
refractory she whispered
bereft
of will
fold the light
to live
step into
this room
“you may notice your existence sparkles for a bit”
in the afterward
You never see the sparkle until the afterwards. Or in the darkness.
Keep sparkling, my dear. We all see you when you enter the room. Promise.
Awww … I like you.
The bits of sparkle. Those are the memories that shine forever.
Although they make driving tricky.
Wait, what?
There is truth in erasment at least outside. Feels vulnerable and stubborn. Bits if sparkle bother me with all of there dimming snd disappearing. So fascinating too. This somehow brings relighting candles to mind. Damn.
*of *their Ack!
Hee hee.
I have always liked your thoughts, Robin.
Today as always.
Thank you.