We can’t pass the point of redemption;
this is hardly anything to do with you.
It is “a dream within the dream,”
a woman’s made,
phosphorescent portrait of the phantom,
an irreversible reminder,
sealed with a watermark.

Indirectly speaking,

the reality stings the eyes,
the thoughts flicker and brake against each other’s edges,
a heart’s convulsions force out another rhyme…
Love digs deeper down in disappointment,
what I know has no reference to past.


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