Dreaming, Monsieur. All the muscles enclosing the head, redly, dark eyes staring out. It reminds me of wounded and healing. Then I saw your face like a carnivàle mask of clouds floating, and emptiness, the void itself, where your eyes and open mouth.
A burqua of white around my head, the snowy landscape. The purity of the whole unbroken light, its whiteness.
Sheath of feeling. Words groping to touch air.
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Woman with Flowers 7.1
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