JOUNREY (::INTO SUBLIME) My hand stood naked like a blue singing fire. Dirty braids messily strewed together almost cry while they look at a face starting back into a white floating mirror. Shivers cascade up and down my stomach while my mother downstairs sings imaginary words to Mozart's requiem. My face is Mozart's requiem. My face is only a line of water running through my black hair. My eyes gently watch lips, burning like green coal, embrace the spaces of passion which termbles between each space of air.
Patricia No
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