The drowning voice

Where’d you put my man? I hear the mute sing. And there he is, blurring at the edges, ghostly double vision. Swirling with the cloud cross breeze, in the sun his edge is hard.

You are his sun.

Take him, love him, feed him your smile. And breath. Don’t leave him to explore the drowning voice. No more itching flitching waiting lonely. Shout be a corpse! I’m coffin! Or cremation. He will rise.

You are his sun.


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