She wilted
For me to gather her up
In the fields where lay her fallen dewdrops,
Like her wings to shed a million feathers.
She was crushed
With the wind against her mountains,
Her eyes against the storm.
I drew beauty's faith close,
As it gave me a chance
To raise love, anew.
Her love
Born from a thousand poet's words,
Aflame, and leaking
To then be drinking
Its touch on the pyre.
Her face
Dreams of being without pain.
Her sadness
Lasts only to fade.
I wade in her mind, tonight,
In the drunkenness
Of a seeming million more
To starve for.
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