trailing at the end of your thoughts,
oh, what a sound
of absolutism
A pause,
and then blues in the dark
a dot, dot, dot
splattered on the floor
Three
are never alone
as three lines trail,
marking the ocean to the next
Dot, dot, dot.
The ellipses cries on the floor
dashing out of the room
in three rapid steps
Altared,
they kneel
and their fingers curl
in desperation
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