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Wed, Jun. 5th, 2013, 03:46 am

Again my words part ways with this straight line
When I hear steps and understand they're yours, not mine.
They resonate throughout, they know no walls at all.
Through countless years I've come to heed their call.
I pull apart the bitter twilight blue.
Here's an old house, above -- the dying Moon.
And here is me and our three-windowed room.

...

But one can't rip open the scars
And one can't let in the Word.
All that you had retained there
Cannot be found here.
So I rush forth after you,
But if I swim like that
I'd overstep the waking realm
Yet lose grip of your Thread.

...

/ A.M.