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from the corner of his eye
he reads
the wind in her hair;
intoxicating, scented braille

he whispers fireflies;
fragments of his soul,
to descend
on her eyelashes
(feathery soft),
and tip-toe to the moon;
where his gaze tastes hers,
delicately,
in white & faintest blue.

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Written for Victoria C. Slotto’s prompt about Synesthesia (confused sensations) over at dVerse – come join us at the bar!

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