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Maiden May

Old love lingers long. Old lovers' eyes ensconced amidst the reticent unhampered tracks of bluetooth speakers playing old memories in MP3 flashbacks akin to LSD astral visions from the mind dancing to cranium trances. The confused youth with the rapid moods rips apart the current heart's sanguine and blossoming romance.
I'm still quaffing your spit, enjoying each second of it, highly doubting I'll ever get sick of it.


To people, whom, albeit cholericly; possess an excessive need for one another, to accost and consume each other, and cannot for a brief moment keep themselves separated. To those whom write daily and observe surreptitiously, watching the bustling fountain of youths kissing one another profusely, passionately - while the nearby writer remains idle.


One lover awakens, the other wants so much to spend every moment with his maiden, so very much so he proposed to her. Yet vows are mere words to a love that spines communicate not through speech, but rather through neurotransmitters.


There are still letters I wrote to you. The crown I bestowed for the man of the kingdom whose royalty never fully walked away. Hours, seconds, and minutes pass, but after all, time is relative, so the stars remain the same – and the niceties of us, self-righteously deserving of better moons, suns, and oceans we swore to cross together, and perhaps memories are just memories, but not today's resurrected love; that's here right now, that somehow I found, and 'twas you whom found, that we would traverse this earthly realm forever, palms and heart strings never severed.






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