A hush of blue—
not sea, not sky, but breath—
hovers where the silence gathers.
A petal unfolding,
blue behind blue,
midnight rising through the hush.
I press my palm against the canvas:
cool silk, the touch of dusk,
oval basin cupping the unknown.
Here, blue is language,
vein and ripple,
a borderless world drawn
by the spine of light.
Blue is the secret curve of becoming—
soft, infinite, waiting to bloom.
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