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Perfect Images the soul’s eyes hold perfect images . . . long hair in fiery screams snow/ice suspended - breathless - drifting stellar flashes; white teeth, dark, dove eyes slices of sun, juice drips from your lips and skin... prismatic beads slip around your feet sift through hands shatter the stars, crash the moon, there’s a stutter deep inside . . . pause the heart (long enough) to make me believe again, in love Deborah Russell, © 2005