Candle flames--lamplight nights,
air-tight sealed hands,
zest of summer--inhaling humid air:
alcohol, waves, and Sarah's smile.
Summer--dead with rotting light,
sun shines, but no rays,
Now, Pale face--porcelain body breaks.
Sapphire eyes--a moment's truth
too real like sunrise's intent
of keeping us together:
and we watched it set.
Heat--always too much,
unlike introspective dandelion winds of March,
clothes were minimum,
my body in your soft hands.
Mornings at the door--
pleasure in sapphire sheets,
our legs entangled--
puzzle pieces--stoic and wet.
Twenty miles to Venice--
picturesque ocean,
fluffing waves to the shore,
and their homeless ostentation.
Talks of joined souls--
the crabs of my mind
moved silently along the rocks--
waves began to over-lap
The moving star--
Clearly it shined,
between my systematic eyes,
and the roar of a thousand oceans.
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