A bird appears as a rhythmic cry after sunset she feels this message slow like a kiss

repeating memory of what was his soft lips of youth burning in a rhythm of passion

an alien species a mystic union of unknown consequences

feeling uprooted in a world of exchange she had to survive as a nomad in the soft touch of rain by the sea

burning eyelids connecting synapses of a mystery translated to a glass of red

Nothing ever was real but his voice as it was progressively breaking along the internet…

by. anna christ


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