If we lived another life
The world would never change
And this to be our chamber music
Our solitary atrium
The alabaster birds
Lined finials to leap from mezzanine
Repose in photographic still
This moment
Aleatory agreement
Zimné de la Bohème
What wintertide or even breeze
Or eventide reprieve
Will shackle the silence
Vested fakes of truths
In palm trees’ paradisiac combustion
A tacit tango whose eyes
Can meet in empty grace
And not to fear
Our (native/alien) tongues are laced
With sayings sooth
And sweet too true to
(Allure/à leur/a lier)
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