We spread soft clouds under our feet
And pass summer noons in white heat
Seize upside down maps of unknown worlds
While magical mirrors on still lakes unfurled
I blow bubble names of many past pictures
Touching your skin, they burst into scriptures
Today, here, a myth is born, again
Love is fashioned in old-flame pain
But if the map of strange worlds turns upright
And magical mirrors fade in the night
We would have touched clouds with our feet
Some bubbles would have merged, somewhere, complete
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