Worlds drunk dotting the lashes of your eyes and go, but travelers in the orbit paths hummed past. You say
rivers that cross and the banks that delight. You say the taste of flesh the earth, when she has that taste of space where you drift, in-between. You hum, "The cart". It's your favorite tune.
You smile the laughter of children.
You stand on this platform. You shake a little hand in a farewell mischievous and tender.
Thanks.
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