Le Quotidien

it's not like in a dream
a neatly crafted fantasy
a gesture, a voice, le quotidien
the person in the room
who fills the heart

it's almost like a memory
a desire burning at odd hours
longings crafted by the senses
a name whose presence comes
and rests upon the soul

the force one can't describe
a flashing thunder at twilight
yet gentle and soothing like
an early morning dew
quenching the spirit's thirst

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