The Printed Dress

On top of the page
Was written, Don’t Write
Not quite a title
But a white-out loud
Put the pen down

Crumple paper in a ball
And toss it out the window
To satellite the moon
Blue as the printed dress
Singing in the breeze

Flowing lines defining an
Underneath beating peek
At the pulse of dreaming
Rhythms orbiting the night
Take that pen out of my hand

Drop the pearl buttons gravity
Down to the hard bare floor
Bouncing out of mind’s eye
Caught back up into the sky
With no words left to find


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