Port at the end of room
If it's a harbor at the end of the beach
then just say my name in a whisper
like a boat going back and forth
within its sturdy walls
And if it's a house
then the door is cracked
even though it's battered by the wind
There's no hot tea there
let alone the lonely flower of eternity
only soft eyes that feel different
No, not because everything has faded
but simply because it's over
this body still exists amidst the dusty walls
and you just need to speak
And if everything is gone
conveyed in the coldness of your low voice
then never close that door
let the dust continue to seep in between the cracks
and everything will fade
but not all the stories
that you whispered in the dim emptiness
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