You faced me with a smile,
Healthy and strong;
The picture I'd paint
If I were an artist,
And not a grim scribbler;
You wanted a promise;
I remember the pressure of it
Storming my shore, and dying
Against my wall;
No Achilles to save the day;
The rainy afternoons we spent
Tearing each other apart;
The nights we sculpted perfection;
And the mornings, when love actually came,
Like dusty sunlight on an antique frame~
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