Salt, bitter like fumes,
of a fire built of nostalgic warmth,
cures my homesickness.
I am again a toddler,
eyes blue as a turbulent sea.
Waving the currents
an untouchable goodbye.
A blank maritime flag,
holds a thousand words
dipped in indecipherable voices.
The language of longing,
Yet to be invented.
– SB
🙂 🙂
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🙂
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The language of longing,
Yet to be invented.
❤
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❤️
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