The romance
With the resplendence.
The wild eyes,
The miserable cries.
The wilderness,
The loneliness,
The bewilderment
Of one set of lips
Far enough to hear its sigh,
Never close enough to taste.

Her wind is let through cold
Of my window.
Her drear is a pressure so dear
That I wish to call myself the defeatist.

Seems to have
Begotten loneliness,
Surging sadness,
Blinded by my tears,
Blanketed by my fears
Under this cold soil of my death.

Buried beside an ocean,
Waiting for the tide,
Waiting for the time
When I can confide.

Startle me,
Oh thunder.

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