Someone looks back
To see me, a man depleted
For the rays of the sun,
To each stinging curve
Carved into a heart
That beats without the everything
Once wielded in the bleeding.

Her hope,
Razor-sharp against the moon,
Mournful with that of cries
When she doubts.

A love that keeps growing
As spring’s nighttime flowers,
Above the grain,
Reaching in great desperation.

Cry for the tempest
To send us afloat,
Instead of sinking to a depth
We will never match.

Her hope
Draws me back
Towards tides I did not follow
While deep within the earth
Where I was swallowed.

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