I trace the sound of your voice,
to a well in my head.
Your mouth; a bucket of syllables,
ricocheting off your vertical circular cell.
You a black balloon,
on a plate of ripples.
The languor of our lagoon,
a fluid body snaring you.
Your whispered echoes traverse,
the depths. I coyly recognise,
the wrinkled words uttered from
the bottom of…
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