slumber, my fingers pull
over mind, a drowning of us,
an open dance, mindlessness evermore;
winter’s wounds deny, disown madness,
it is afar from where we left, grieved,
the salvation into the abyssal tongue
alone, in thalassic sway
whilst we are fools of happiness.
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Written for the dVerse prompt: Write a quadrille (a poem of EXACTLY 44 words, not including the title) AND include the word “happiness”.