Obsessive dust dries
moments, liquid smiles, entombing ore
beneath the crust.
Until unearthed
from this day’s clay, a lattice dissolved,
like ions set free
in a molten state of trust.
But in this solution,
this electric flow,
where do the impure ones go?
I need to ask,
for guilt's a corrosive seed,
just like this dust. |
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