all these things...

every shade of you, it's like the baby blue sky,
disguised in motives, ethics, and tones, having
dialogues in the syntax of a photo's sentences,
transfixed in your unthinkable fantasy's realm
to a buoyant degree than any realness, defined
candidly by the undefined contour of our love,
sowed in the universe through all these things
just a little bit to bleed in the whispers' colors,
written daily with the ink of a story's prospect

poetic audience

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