Why’d you mute my whining lungs? I thought together we had tasted the grit of enough shattered sea shells. Oh, I feel like a kid again. We sat under a nuclear winter the eve of the snow that took you away from me. And do you remember the lavish surgery you performed? We cut the edges off by naming our children. I asked you, once more, to saw a bow across my chest: “It won’t be the last, it won’t be the last...” What does perfection’s ceiling look like? I thought the ether would carry my prose. Although I’ve exhaled the sails, we could never understand the wind. You are an ever beautifying apparition. Catalyst, whatever it may be, let me be the one to feed you to the trees. And as for me, compassion: lovely make me a meteor.
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