What brings you here after all these years?
Moths. Output of lights.
And this flight from yet comes to mind.
Not an experiment of an excuse and escape.
After all those horizons come to mind
The lush ones and the not so lush ones.
I know the holidays. There's the gas
Of a grownup's kiss. It is to be practiced. This
Shyness for the rest of it is snowfall.
He raised his eyes to the grocer on a Sunday
But only the one who falls among the glare
Pronounces his innocence his spirit's harmony
They used to fall on us in immediate and precise
Locations. I am not ready to repent.
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