moment to moment has become
hours of loose time in mounds of rapid
sensory construction.
my attention is taken by
those sweet eye's in the days pass
and whose lazy tongue,
allot strings to
my dancing legs.
i'm hanging at the edge
of a cloud with rays of light under my chin.
through many lines and
layers of other's, these lips speak at
the chance for
something lucid.
i wish to not imagine,
the spirit living where bodies cross.
i want to cross the spirit
where the eye's stand.
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