I woke up.
An explosion of lotus petals
flowered out of my eye sockets.
Harps fountaining
like wind waves of tide grass.
A woman in profile
stands on a music box stage
her lids lined with khol.
I can't stop staring at her hands.
Hennaed traffic in strands of veins
finger sway shadows on red velvet curtains.
The air is fragrant and heavy.
I am sleepy.
The scenes go missing.
The light is made of sand.
It blows away.
warm dark.
I must remember this place.
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