MetaLoveMy Loves look at me longingly
Her Kiss deep as a Metaphor
She speaks of that what used to be
What was and is not anymore
We parse the distance light as thought
While Dark Days Drive our hearts in rain, in ice,
My Love Once Was, were we for nought?
Mouths or moths, fluttering in a vice.
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
Read 280 times
Written on 2017-08-19 at 08:26
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