Immaculate Perception

It takes a village to build a bridge

and smooth sentences
to sing a vignette to sleep.

We weep,
one chord after another
like feet following steps;

one, two three, one two three

these pretty words, waltzing in stanzas
like similes, smiling in twos;
syllables laughing
at the alliteration of it all.

We fall in love
with every letter,
the assonance of a vowel
echoing in innocent winds;
a river of ripples
carrying messages
softly home.

Who would have thought
a drop of ink

could cause such a sensation.



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