Chamomile Proxy

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At the seaside, I surrender you
my love, and hold on tightly, to you,
and know, between my fingers,
what I hold will crumble, break apart.

The tighter my grip, the faster it will
slip between and fall away from me.
What is real and tangible in this
illusory dream?

My breath, the songs stuck in my head,
a momentary flicker of light as the grains
of sand pull me into a foreign land,
the burning sensation in my heart--

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