Noise is what separates
My soul
From sweet serenity
And its nectar that likely
Would never flow
In a continuous stream
Allowing me to stand
For long
After all
More likely akin
To a stuttering
Morse code
That sprinkles grace
From a backward-masked tongue
In every place
Just out of reach
From where I lay
Clutching deaf ears
In a shivering panic
That pierces
Even more deeply
Each time I realize
That you aren’t
A part
Of this landscape

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