Sands!

Hot as tea, whether a burner,
Produces polished edges.
While warmth as the winter quilt
Might choke one to an exile forever.
A not becomes a yes,
And a yes puts down;
Absurd, these sands seem!
Can’t hold them,
But can’t stop trying either.
~with a silent perplexity, and a surprising love for the anonymity.

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