Soles blue,numb from the snow’s fall,I stood reflectingat the reflection of the moonin my dry Sherry wine. Small circlescounter-clockwise making wavescrying, reflectingat the reflection of the moon;an infinite snow dons the backdrop. What was her name that questionedmy heart’s motive for trust?A quivering handpresents me with a million moodsbreathe….breathe….breathe…., I must,be dissolvingin to the reflection of the…

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