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Balloons
The clear vowels rise like balloons. Sylvia Plath I wish it were more than just the crystal tone of your voice rising from the rumpled sheets, the bed a distant landscape viewed from far above. The room a sky, an expanse, a horizon filled in blue with white clouds and today, rising into the horizon a thousand hot air balloons, each so brightly colorful in the sun. Your words floating into my consciousness as I touch you, here… there, softer, faster. Each utterance more urgent as the jets roar...