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| the synaesthete's love poem Kristy Bowen |
Yesterday, blue tasted like licorice. Even wind chimes caused dizziness; an ache of paper lanterns rotting from the acacias. Perhaps the L in my name makes you sad, evokes a film where a woman waves from a train. Or how this horizon wants to be a hymn. If you listen, you can hear the holes in the alphabet, sounds lit by the lamps of our bones. Perhaps with this page I could fashion a boat or a very convincing window. A dress made entirely of vowels. |
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