there are buds of lavender
on the grass;
we’ll open these doors and
wet our fingers with dewdrops
blurred light, jagged peaks and
toenails, scratched with the lead
of pencils
sandalwood incense,
your whisper in the doorway,
welcome home
it smells like burnt candles here;
like exhaustion and the morning
together
i’ll write you a note;
we can translate it into
the places you’ve never been
and
the dreams you’ve never had
we’ll leave
two sets of footsteps there
tomorrow
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in the wake of light, your words bring me more(please, do leave your fingerprints behind, so I may relish the image of our hands after you go.)