She is like a sunflower in the night
who just has learnt to turn to face the darkness
awaiting for the shooting star to fall
to rinse her expectancy with its glittery luminosity;
not knowing – it is never really a star
but a small piece of rare rock
or just finely powdered earthly reliance : promised dust.
Being burnt up in the black blankness
which hits the vacuity
before it ever reaches
any heart-shaped blade of a blossom: bent and yellow!
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