On a particle of dust, I’ll build a home – we’ll plant our roots
and toes in the sound of violins! -- our molecular bedroom (blue) will float along the waves of music, pushing through the walls like a kayak on the water, like a train track on a bridge. We’ll let jazz and Brahms and Amadeus Mozart carry us far to ancient mud castles on the edge of the Ivory Coast, through grainy wind and gritty sun, across mountains of pebbles and gold reflections of electric starlight, neon flashes of science, and though birds and bugs might fill our flat suburban ears and flowery ropes of yellow and fuchsia explode inside our empty eyes, nothing is quite so striking as the shape letters make when they spell out your name arranged just so sitting still barely breathing.
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