Come quiet,
Let the rope bind our wrists.

Emptiness had not been
So sinful,
While the wicked had been
Running at our feet.

The world marches
Great patterns of disinterest,
For we are no fond remembrance

As any fold of a paper.

We dined on each other
In the wake of smallest hours.
Climbed upon the other,
Stepped closer
For solace in the other’s view.

We rested
In arms, we gathered.
Drew blankets close,
While the oceans kept their distance.

Love’s quiet cries
While the moon takes shape

Holds pain together,
Gives an inch
To scatter the mile,

Rests surety upon endless winds.

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