"Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?"
- Pocahontas, Walt Disney Studios
He could whisper in her ear, a breathy word, or strike a chord that pierced her very soul.
Everything, everything he was, everything he did, everything he is and everything he does
Drawn-out, lingering, an interminable.
Fair hair seemingly elongated down an elongated crest of moon’s skin,
Fingers seemingly elongated across an elongated ritenuto.
She could find him but only by searching,
Although he would be better heard than seen.
~E
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