Slips down the hair
To the curve of the bosom
To the knees
And the path below
That grows out into foliage
And antique caves
As old as time.
The creak of a door
Or the gravitating musings
Of the solidarity
Of footsteps in the dark
The clamour of dishes
The unsaid words
Turn up like swings in the hold
Of a lovely summer breeze
Another winter is crawling below
The doorsteps of a decade
Another call is hanging low
In the gardens of the shore
Where the earnest winds
Weave wallpapers in rain
And sadistically cross each other's path
A cosmic show grows old
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