We had nothing much

Between us,

Except for a seed,

Soiled deep in our chests

It never grew into a shade.

In the universal drought

Of light, the weather took lives

To change.

 

We have nothing much

Between us

Except for a fruit

We are never meant to taste.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Cast.

Fill. Condensed of a sound. Reacting to a cosmos. Like crashing bound. Rotate. Circle. Crash. Lift. Back. Slow, softly, cross over, walk over the high bridge, where falling in to cold drops a part of the gossamer or substance. Leading trail. Leaving no trace. Dips in, tender. Arise, floating. Above seeks a sign.