it’s the twitch and curl of your lips that strike a chord with me, as if heartstrings get snagged on chapped flakes of skin and twang with a rhapsodic gasp. i remember you referencing lightning strikes in the bells on sunday and wonder when the grey of stormy skies will cast a chill to the air or whether it’s blue for monday and tuesday as well. but it’s the spark of light that emanates from your mouth as you murmur of beauty and clocks that sends the elusive rose garden to the peaks below my eyes, reflecting the silver of your immaculate bloodless skin.
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