the gnawing cold and abrasive
wind reminds me just how
much warmth there is
when we sit close to each other,
your eyes intent in its stare,
as if no moment would
soon meet its death, as if
a fall could ever be gentle,
now, thriving on 'as if's,'
we are prisoners of an
undisclosed yearning and of
an immeasurable light,
unfixed, unsteady, escalating,
drowning the sense of sadness.
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