Wind Octet

There are no doors
No windows
Where we are
The black air stops me
Seeing how you look like
As you sit on the chair
Sipping the cold tea
I can only imagine your face
Reflected over an old map of innocence
There is nothing to say now
All that had to be spoken
Is spoken for
The non-words fill the landscape
With stillness
The beautiful dead bodies
Are floating outside the city limits
Taken away by tides.

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