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It Is Not Only Time We Consume

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Just speak

until your mouth froths with flowers

and butterflies.

As elusive as the one I’m trying to touch,

your eyes have the same flutter.

We eat with eagerness of what is on our table.

The butterflies, the flowers, they disappear.

And finally, I have your eyes.

It is sudden sadness that illuminates them.

It is the tingle of your spoon that fills the marble floor.

I feel them – the fall

and the realization that this dinner

is a banquet for two.

Originally published in happyobituary.blogspot.com.

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