Only period of a day on earth which frees a soul,
stimulated under a moonless purple sky.
From all corners of being or should I say the curves of a face,
the vesper of a cooler breeze letting you know you’re inhabiting a body.
Although always the eyes,
a crease furrows down the face keeping a pulse.
It is so quiet, a nonhuman stillness,
one that unlocks the prison of a scorching day.
Even is even as day flatlines to an evening which frees a soul.
It is upon your eyes, within this sepal opening voiceless,
here tiny motes of light dance.
Always the eyes, always the earth, always are we caught in these cycles, beholding the sky of stars under a moonless evening. Wish making in the falling stars in your eyes.
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