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Yearn

I would wrap your love around me like a coat. I would let your hands be the sieve that caught my soul. I would let your lips be the parachute that I never checked. I would fall on my anger like a sword. To die at your feet is not just Love, it is Religion. To break and be mended by hands divine and flesh and soft. Like stained glass.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2025




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Book: Reflection on the Important Things