wrinkled fingertips
canyons carved by droplets and droplets
forehead sighs with cracks
mist in the mirror
joyous splash of water
from luxuriant tap, made to look antique
like this face
only god forgot
to make it also dignified
face the bark of oak
when looked at closely
only no one wants to
mist in the eyes
white shadows, black shadows
at night, when the bed creaks sympathetically
for it is solid, it knows
that the night will pass, every one does
every one passes
no it’s not reassuring
because at night, you’re face to face
with shadowy prophets
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