Listening to: the sound of co workers typing
Feeling: dead
My perception of you
Is of cool dessert rain,
Or a life-given sculpture
Of fine porcelain.
From your face a reflection
Of light newly born
In a warm autum sky
On a calm cloudless dawn.
But your mind is a world
I may never know.
This thought I find freezing,
My heart fills with snow.
But my blood is made warm
As we circle through space
By believing your heart
Gives the light to your face
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