fortune teller

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The wind carried spores and his voice,
The trembling conduit for apologetic words
And professions of love. 
I inhaled the pollen and the rain,
The featherlight burden that dusted my body
Gently as moth wings.
I vaguely remember that night. His pen whispered,
“You will never be alone as long as you live.
I have explored your emptiness,
And I know it like my own.” 
Though I held the paper carefully
For its fragile sentimental value,
It grew wings and struggled. 
“Your heart will never be vacant
As long as you search for a tenant,  
And your sheets will never be cold
As long as you crave their warmth.”
The wind carried spores and splotches of ink,
Simply evidence of something meaningful
Passing, passed, or soon to come. 

Created: Jun 26, 2012

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