Crumbling sheets and misplaced feathers that lie
Delicately on the transparent skin
Of two lovers whom are nestled within
A makeshift home. As fleeting as a sigh
Of resigned hope. A limited supply
Scorns at the times that would’ve, could’ve been.

Yet one of transience is not without weight,
And hope need not be crushed down to the floor.
A temporal sweetness does still satiate
The dullness of a tongue that has once more
Tasted the touch of love’s open gate,
So clear the anguish is worth striving for.



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