Days here are crisp,
you can hear every footstep
that echoes through empty streets
and they become difficult to swallow
and everyday I’m a little more shattered.
But the voice of my love fuses the days together like
filling a palace with its perfume,
washing over shattered fragments of life
over angles of houses separated and contained,
molding them together once more,
and I miss the indulgence of days before this.
Days before this
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