When I compare my love to frozen vines,
repressed beneath the frost’s relentless grip,
while sweetness looms, I nary taste the wines
of love that lingers taunting me to sip.
My aching skin, akin to frozen grapes,
betrays the warmth your nectar must exude.
Though pressed by weight and time, still on I traipse,
a doom I meet, forbearing interlude.
I crave your...
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