Copyright to whoever took it. Lifted from


It is late.
The horned moon declines
As I lay my head
Into soft down
That feels
Like soft skin.
And I dream
That in your arms
I am held.

You are gone
Under a sun that
Is never veiled
In clouds.
A light, heat
I could not sustain
And, so I lie,
Bathed in the cold
Pale glow
Of weakness.

And I wish I could wake up
Wake up to new life,
New love, new you.

Author: falselogic

Doesn’t mix well with polite company; his two favorite topics being politics and religion. Would rather be out cycling, swimming, running, or camping. Misspent his youth reading genre-fiction; today, he is making up for it by reading large quantities of non-fiction literature. The fact that truth, in every way, is more fascinating than fiction still tickles him.

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