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The Sleeping Skin

The slowly grinding heavy days
– With time that is not mine –
Etch silent sins on burning skin,
Regret in every line

The loving poison, darkest truth,
The ties that tease and bind,
With strangest threads of shame and dread;
Awake, and yet so blind

Ageless, timeless, floating free,
A soft quiet morning blessing
Clear and true – I never knew
Such gently pure caressing

It is no dream to cross the line,
Beneath the musical skies,
Believing in all the shimmering world

My sleeping skin
My opening eyes

A part of the Portraits collection