always hers, though never
always hers, though never exquisite violets and blues of twilight, also escort her melancholia and echo from inception to behind her eyes. in the autumn of her time, she assays her life to find she perches fecklessly on the verge of a precipice. she sniffs the magic and mystery that cling to them. she always knew but he had to learn; truly, there is not logic in everything. look what’s become of her; as the August snow on Mt. Quandary, she, too, is out of season and in darkness struggles to swim, upstream. desirable or not, the fascination between them reiterates and he remains the best thing that was never hers. 09-14-10 © tlp 2010
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