the sky
superimposed on glass
is sepia stretched
in waves
and I
know as
the clouds
commune it
will no longer
exist, still I
reach my fingers
towards the
illusion, calling it
back to crate me
as gentle
dew collects
in the
cracks of
my palms
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the sky
superimposed on glass
is sepia stretched
in waves
and I
know as
the clouds
commune it
will no longer
exist, still I
reach my fingers
towards the
illusion, calling it
back to crate me
as gentle
dew collects
in the
cracks of
my palms
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