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I hear first snow falling,
                Fat white whispers
Geese flying in hurried vees
The high warm drafts of August
        long gone;

Alone here in my van Winkle doze
        I pull my quilt in close
It's faded cloth dimly sweet
                And you cross my mind --
Our huddled adventures that
Cold year when the world
        was you and I
When a thousand sparkling zeroes
        lit our path.
We were legendary --

April's city of hope, its emerald
        promises, so far away;
I shall doze in the poppies meantime
And cherish the winter moon's
                longing to hold me tight --
Winter is coming. . . .
I don't know you
But I dream about you
The way you hold my hand

You whisper something and
I smile because you know so
    well how to soften me

You are the love I have never met
My cohort
        My savior
               My antidote
  4d Sona Lachina
Love can be like
trapped light
existing like dusk
the likes of which we can't see
physical but not optical
gravesites for stars
a waystation for dreamers
a delta to cruise through
paradise on Sunday
cold as ice on Monday
a hundred pound block on tongs
with a butterfly at its center
your temple of madness
or the Egypt of your ***
lands of mystery
an island of death
proven theories of sorrow
your lineage, children, tomorrows.
I need to be kissed
under a dying sun
in some desolate place
with bramble and discord,
that pulls me into melancholy;

Then will comfort me
like religion should

        But doesn't --
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