The time has come for me.
For you. Or maybe for us.
Feelings entrapped in the heart over
thousand years now,
Whispering in the form of windswept.
I listen to your silence.
It screams my name in the spiral ways,
Time and again I appear there.
I caress your chest like a meandering mountain’s river flow,
The curve of your skin around my palm.
I float on your body, as if rivulet is in
The company of a trumpeter swan.
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