Remembering Your Breath
Your breath,
now silent from my lips,
issues instruction
to sentient
others.
And you partially
recall
my own
jumbled style,
fresh, with your cinnamon scent.
The art
of remembering
is never to forget,
you
in the night of the triptych song.
Drawn
on the canvas,
of vivid
fuschia coloured memory.
I am, textual in purpose.
This
neural faith
shows little compassion,
and
saves only the tactile of images.
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