Dangling

Our syllables met

for just one waltz

 

trading sighs for kisses

 

and if I could write music,

you would have been the chorus.

 

Brush between my fingers,

I studied every tremble 

when your eyes met mine,

 

and colors flowed

as every sorrow dissipated 

 

like smoke rings

into auras 

of our blue, blue day

 

leaving us dangling

 

from constellations,

like past participles

connected in the beauty

 

of only one sentence.

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2 thoughts on “Dangling

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