Floating against the pitch dark sky,
the dandelion seeds seemed to be gasping.
If, perhaps, love was to be blamed,
then someday we too will be short of breath.
Thinking in whites and blacks,
I blew at the dandelions.
If, perhaps, my breath was to be blamed,
then someday I'm sure all will take flight.
Surrounded by the dancing dandelions,
your face was obscured.
Tears, spilled, blurring my vision,
waking me from this fleeting dream.
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