None
Stories pour from my third eye in an iridescent stream of emerald green light.
CONSCIOUSNESS HAS NO COLOR.
And one day my consciousness will transcend the mere shape of a letter./ The slippery sound
of a sentence slithering snakelike from the space in between your lips. Trading the velvet
vocal vibrations of my throat for silence's silken texture.
Copyright © Brooke Mitchell | Year Posted 2009
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