followed his shadow into the light
a cloud of mist dropping on my shoulder
and fingers climbing a knife around
the mind
something pulling and a slight tease
swinging with the breeze among free formed leaves
pestered by his shallow leap
still connected to my posture
enveloped by air of fools breath
appeal
has so many faces on call
he took shape in the times with tapping
another brain or four
holding yellow flowers at the gate
a dozen offered by arm
he would take the arm the flowers and
the gut of my words
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