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Nov 2016
you are lovely in the light diffused by the clouds
like bruises on an orange creamsicle,
wind playing games with our hearing:
i think i have always known you, it sings, its voice a syncretism of
yours and mine

the trees die extravagant deaths and autumn is both the murderer and the funeral procession, and i
can't help but laugh every time you say you've never felt weather this cold—wait until you kiss me, i think
because you are a desideratum of a desiduous tree, and i am
some kind of plummeting, some kind of fall
twelve caesuras
Written by
twelve caesuras  suicide notes, love poems
(suicide notes, love poems)   
468
     tc, Argentum and Mike Adam
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