on cold mornings who would gather around to shelter your pieces falling or your drinking eyes. no one, and everyone, who had loved your fingers and the way they could dance. always - i could never capture you as you were, only as you might have been if it did not rest so, upon weakest shoulders. the wind told me of your heavy eye stare, and how did i believe that you would only smile when skies dropped off to greyest gray.

just cradling, slow fading
death of birth.
only when
you created closed eyes, forever.

self induced moment of
pure blissful agony,
there were only stars and
the sky lay around you,
always out of reach.

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