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December 22, 2008
The kiss was a bee's sting.
It was feverishly beating wings whispering,
defying gravity in a microcosm of everlasting time
Lethologica is the state of not being able to remember the word you want,
When thoughts swing like a pendulum of gold,
Glittering and soft,
Slowing with each breath
My sky was a supernova of flying kites.
Furious, jubilant.
Full of blushing blues
solemn, like blood dipped in ink
and at that moment
you were only a tiny wound
Only a sting
And still I drift
Like the scarlet scarves that danced
To the rhythm of the breeze
That day.