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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
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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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