It engulfs as it dances,
innocent in origin.
It calls from forgotten window panes,
and rushes to join decrepit creeks.
It longs for a companion,
velveteen skin drenches hair and eyes
blurs vision until it is beautiful.
It finds solitude with wandering souls,
whispers coaxing poems into deaf ears
with the singular hope that it will be heard.
It will be forgotten.
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