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The silence of every sound,
Illogically placed furniture,
We don’t see our faces from the outside,
Stopping dead before rosebushes.
Asthmatic if denied kisses,
A pair of fixed wings
When don’t see mountains,
Talking to strangers in hotel lobbies,
A Campari left at a bar counter.
Holding a passport
That no longer means anything,
Holes in the socks –
An acoustic drama.
The silence is a sharp image
Which can never be held tight –
Love without end and margins –
Borders do open overnight.