A stream of silver quietly breathes,
Soft touch caressing the shoreline,
Cradling my feet in the shallows,
Securing a starlit shrine.
The water – cold and calm –
Rippling with the slightest shift,
Suffocating me with fluid cushions,
Watch an ashen aviator slowly drift.
The river speaks and calls:
An invitation to go down,
To which I accept –
And happily drown…
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