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5:55 A.M.
The tick of the clock reverberates
as cold January morning moon winds
a chill of sterility
Embraced good-byes have just been spoken
Your lips still I see
almost tasting
their purple grape fragrance
Touch
I wish fear hadn't
kept me from a caress
to savor this vision
Alone I twist about stupid
feeling fainthearted
daunted by the thought of destroying
The bloom
Spark
with affection
You bring joy
moments spent with you light the stars
but'alone in their glowing glee
a cold shiver shudders
I have memories
jubilant
I'm frightened
It's six twenty-three
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