tendril
Touched first by attentive tendrils,
that bore their holes to branch the loss.
I wed myself to your blessed eyes,
beneath which joy has carved its lines.
We kick up all the ancient dust,
foreswear the end of every hour.
A hand once held is not a hand,
but a pink and deathless flower.
that bore their holes to branch the loss.
I wed myself to your blessed eyes,
beneath which joy has carved its lines.
We kick up all the ancient dust,
foreswear the end of every hour.
A hand once held is not a hand,
but a pink and deathless flower.
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