fog enough that reddens the skin,
to a hue that doesn’t sting,
but numbness is not a wish to grant,
upon the oh so soft,
flesh to the lips,
binding to a new degree,
dazing of how the fingers,
just graze,
arising of it all,
yet no near,
on the small ginger snaps,
go nowhere on the bite of it,
just so,
swift of the light perfume,
comes close to home,
yet no in doubt,
of all it goes,
falls flat,
yet the ways to go up and away it all,
wishing on that desire,
pleasure of it all,
fails it all,
yet not forgotten,
between two,
and only two,
genders be damn,
our moment,
only as this,
tartlet tang but it always brings in smiles,
near and apart,
away once more,
this thing that form the gap,
death of it all,
upon no else,
fever cares happen,
in the past,
didn’t it matter during it all,
on what it made between two,
worth it all,
for a story needs a good start,
and at times,
if it can,
a good ending,
but it doesn’t come close,
but almost,
let it happen,
the coffee spills,
burning into the dining table,
staining the emotions,
that got out of hand,
just as the twilight rising color,
way of a hue raging blush,
that mocks the sky,
to where it couldn’t mean anything,
in the small close moments,
they will not be over glanced,
just the parts that crack open the gap,
but the mending corners will heal,
in time,
and that coffee sky,
will shine anew,
and leave it as a smile,
just as when we said hello,
I love you,
we can disagree to agree,
I hate you . . .
but we are learning,
there will never be a goodbye,
even at the worst,
so again,
I love you,
rest well.




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