poem

Time is singing in my bones

And turning them to dust 

footprints (poem)

I've had footprints in my dreams

and on my mind. 

Phantom trails that slowly move from the top of my head 

down my jawline and down my chest and to my fingers. 

I can feel them. The marks of those who walk in and out of my head

leaving trace like silent snow in a frozen world. 

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