the only time a word has no place,
is when time is of the essence,
and anything will do.

why would I rush to send a message,
that’s to me come through—

and when the rhyme comes
in time, just
for a new beginning.

how does the moonlight so sonata,
verbose with it’s shine—

or the sunshine sing my only
want is yours, your name,
sung, proud

of the formidable sky
that knows no other color.

’till then may I dare
to tell the air you carry
to coarse through me its supplications.

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