Excursus 3/29
Before
the moment was blind
and the city was a jellyfish
I told you I was floating
Your eyes were closed
What I never said
That I was sitting on the rocks
and you were drifting away
Never really looking at me
This is not confession
I hold hands to face and look between fingers
See hidden ghosts
In a box in some closet you turn to dust
You are dried ivy tendrils
God imaging himself into existence
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