if i am to be vacant of companionship and communion with you then all has been my own dream. i have dreamed of a field spread-loved by graceful golden wheat and you, the wind which caressed a life-war torn spirit; trembling hands. my own as-had as dreams as worn as ancient book bindings ~ lost within the smolders of everywhere. was youth easy when anchors were drawn upon the bow and all waves were frolicked star crests upon our arms? picking up the discarded shells of the battle front-life a patch of beach-white untouched by strife; i picked up a pitted murex and placed it next to my heart. :: 04-08-2017 ::
April 8, 2017
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