distortions

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creak, the bed moves and beneath my feet the floor is hushed whispering, my feet padding gentle across the stone tile- we are cold

brief in our lives, and memory even more so, muted we grow soft like  distortions of the clouds as they rain down – we are one moment

flying cheaply made, and terribly complex, burst at the seams with being and then smiling with no apparent reason

creak, the bed moves and accepts my body, the room is hushed  and darkening,  my eyes closing gentle across the lifetime bleeding inside  -we are dreaming