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waking up to you is like
opening my eyes
to the first snowfall
of the season,
when everything shines and life
feels like an eternal bliss
as your autumnal eyes
bring on the solstice
pen ink smears across

blue-lined pages

made by bearing down with an

unsteady hand that isn't more unstable

than the neurosis of trying to

make words mean more

than they actually do
I wish that I could throw stars

into your eyes

so that you couldn't see Death

looming over us with his velvet

blue cape

and you could scatter it

with constellations

— The End —