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With hands inextricably intertwined, we chase
visceral and untamed shadows.
Silhouettes of love long passed, now gone
to discover someday in the far beyond.
Burning the rain to peel away
layers of forgotten dust and pain,
the rough pressing of lips to soft shoulder blades
covering up this lovely mess we have made.
A paroxysm behind heavy curtains while
the light of dawn sneaks onto our skin
creating designs traced by shaking fingers
where the pattern of fading love still lingers.
I can afford to falter in passion while
you cease to whisper sweet nothings.
A melancholy acquired from intimacy;
creating something from nothing; a fallacy.
Heavy breathing makes quiet melodies
inside my ears, attuned to your voice,
between symphonies – an interlude –
a song to follow, and to preclude.
The dance of chasing shadows through
dim alleyways and grey ghost towns,
and tearing spider webs from bedposts
the end of an overture hurts the most.