Written By CL Liedekev
The dream opens: on a cat made of gold - its ears, fur lining, its head - mixed with sun. Its heart so heavy it no longer can move its weight. The mouse it chases is gray and bleeding , tiny fingers holding the letter from its lover back in the house hole, tears of cyan and cinder mark its escape. The floor around them bubbles up, soap into fire, the surface cracks and light lets out, morning unburies itself. You are there, shoulders and thighs blurred to the point where the gold and sadness have become weightless.
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