Forgiveness Is A Long Hallway

I dream about you.
We are in a long hallway;
there is no end.
Your hands turn into moths
and touch my face.
I understand what you
are trying to say
with all your gentleness;
do not need to
question the weight
of antennae brushing
against me,
do not need to listen to
the whisper of your wings
to hear their soft:
Sorry.
I am sorry.
I am.

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