common place in the dream of immortal men,
but unreachable by those who are dragons.
A dust made of dreams, make of lust and longing.
Falling into an upward draft, being propelled into
another life, another age, another love. Into you
or her, or him, or it, or them, or us, or me, or nothing.
Dragons made of dust blaze across the sky.
But the ground is just a good.
But the ground is just a good.
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