I can’t stay
To beseech silver grace from a puddle so soon run dry
For my grief to waste rivulets and lines
Of somatoform suspicion
I still linger and long you
Expecting lamplight in your hands
Offering me remnants of true light
In young flint pools
I see knowledge
A flicker, a glow
But I seek stirring in these embers
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1 comment:
Je t'aime.
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