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Oct 2016
Golden hues cause my synapses to tingle,
memories burst and make me wriggle.

Am I alone in this electric feeling,
lost in a misguided myopic way of seeing?

Memories grow week as the days grow shorter,
no longer do the instill and nervous ferver.

My feelings can no longer bridge this gap,
my love is is dying out, drained of its sap.
Eliza Fairchild
Written by
Eliza Fairchild  Ithaca
(Ithaca)   
640
 
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