Detonations of warm violet this autumn. Back and forth we’ll drink farewells! Love on another evening returns as a strength on this one. The heart is seared by each thought in the music, music for a painter at tea who finds more than tea glittering in the china cup. There is a cruelty we know and feel right down to the bone. We are alone with it usually, kicked by its eternal blossoms and formulations until we think we have found life. Such is my constitution, what I am made of, what my face and heart share with the wind.

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