in the lack of tangible things
to describe you, i shall attempt
to wrap your nakedness with the
haze of words, and what they
ought to mean in this universe,
when shadows were what it all was,
silhouettes tangle themselves in
the night with the hovering scent
of passion drenched wildly with
fire, the oranges and reds of this
memory swinging back and forth
to frames of dreams and reality,
the beating seconds harbored by
the delight of punctuations.
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