Three.

So what is love?
A warm blanket,
On a winter night?
A cool breeze,
In the summer light?

Or perhaps, it’s a mirage.
Like your moist visage.
Gilded beneath the lone sun.

For the fleeting memories of past,
And the familiar shadows they cast,
Might draw tears, sweet as dew,
from mine eyes too, but know,
That I can love you,
And still let you go.

-Aratrik D.





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