She was timid-faced, eyes and breath
abated,
head full of thoughts fresh off the streets
incomplete and
passion-strung.  One thing’s clear, she loves through each
breath she holds
for my answer.  She lives.  I can
feel the pulse of it all
convulsing inside
her.
She’s scared I’ll miss it, as if this
ether-thing can be grasped to
begin with. It floats in
fast paced hearts and
obsessions
focused too clearly on one thing,
certainly.

Perhaps a tiny part of her soul is
contained within the walls
of her tears. They
travel perfectly down,
cleaning the skin’s imperfections
gripping onto their maker,
intensely.  If only I could
hear the escaped
soul as the
tear
smashes down, violently
breaking it’s
borders.

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