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Pillowtalk

Did you know that this house 
breathes in the man-made lights,
so our walls can exhale colors?
Tonight, this town is going to burn in neon blaze again, 
for the sake of light-pollution, love. 
Yet this time, light means our corrupted souls.
You know, some may say that
there's no place for the true firmament of stars now,
not even time for twin-flames, like us.
Yet still, we are capable of coming to blow with this mirage, 
battling against this army of bogus lustrum.
For we are about to lose our sham voice
so, at last, we can echo light.

Copyright © Diana Bosa

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