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Open Doors

Sometimes, I can’t tell if the thrum within the hand I’m resting lightly on your chest is coming from my heart or you.
There are gently ringing bells, a subtle tintinnabulation from a waft of patient air through heavy doors so rarely used
or even opened
that the hinges rusted through.

I wanted information, but the sweetness of the questions that your breathing raises in me only wipes away the things I thought I knew.
No invocation or memory potion can assist me now, so I’m left with only mysteries that whisper in the quiet room.
And outside all your flowers are in bloom.

Contact me? My email is my first initial and last name, which you can deduce from this website's URL, at I'm also on Mastodon as