i am the dream,
with heavy eyelids and soft fingertips
that haunt the curves of my face.
two decades of sun
lie in the golden wisps
that fall onto my feathered pillow.
my blushed cheeks and frozen features
frame days of fairies and springtime,
a pastoral haze of pinked flowers, blued skies:
lost in mistakes.

my soul follows the horizon,
split by unmovable mountains
and setting suns,
later spotted with the stars
that illuminate even the
darkest creases of my mind.
no window can catch sight
of what lies in my nettled psyche –
i am cursed,

but with this dream,
i will kiss my own palms
and divide my own darkness.


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