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Untitled Sonnet
I'm coming as storm shadowing your grief,
The atmosphere bursting where you need me;
We're in the middle of the push of rain
That is streaked between inches of our pain.
A whirring draft of the glass on our lips—
We're drunk with so much said and unsaid tense;
Still passes the virgin bed so unkind—
Because you can never truly be mine.
This is the end of walking by shadows
For shadow faithfulness would have me go—
Would I found you sleeping in innocence,
After our storm's undefended hindrance.
Blessings to a damn, I want it gone through
Beneath my heart, where I'm looking at you.
Copyright ©
Paige Hind
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