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5:55 A.M.

The tick of the clock reverberates
as cold January morning moon winds
a chill of sterility
Embraced good-byes have just been spoken

Your lips still I see
almost tasting
their purple grape fragrance
    Touch
      I wish fear hadn't
kept me from a caress
to savor this vision

Alone I twist about stupid
feeling fainthearted
daunted by the thought of destroying
The bloom
    Spark
    with affection

You bring joy
moments spent with you light the stars
but'alone in their glowing glee
a cold shiver shudders

I have memories
    jubilant
I'm frightened
It's six twenty-three

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