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tea and a rose-smoked moon

the shape of you is not the soul of you

I sit in my little house near the sea, surrounded by old books of poetry, while in my heart I walk cold hills with Emma and Richard. Music is playing quietly and the air fills with rose-scented incense smoke. I want a Turkish rug; I want someone to bring me tea in the cup I got from a long while's wishing. Outside, the svelte white moon sashays up through stars. There's a lot of talk lately about planets but I'd rather know what habitable places you have in the darkness behind your own heart.


  1. Oh my... the beauty of your words...
    Thank you xx

  2. Love this, how beautiful these words are.

  3. Mmmm, that last line. It's everything just now.


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