slipping in and out of the cracks
each little crevice
of the white pillars
the stalagmites
and the stalactites.
You are with me
also lost in the dark caves
flying around on your magic carpet
winding around me. I feel your breath
in mine
and together we search.
Looking for meaning in this dance
like the French do.
And we search
Yes, I'm late once more. This is yesterday's poem.
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