patterns in the sky at night
as whispers come to be
fleetingly we know delight
the shape of you and me
like suns in alternating states
or moons that beam in turns
the seasons of the heart rotate
one freezes whilst the other burns
by now it's just too late to know
or even hope it's true
the faithless reap just what they sow
it's scarce as morning dew
clock hands scar the dreaming face
you will not let this be
instead of warmth we're fabricating space
as stars distinct from sea
for me all love is simple in design
leaves all else in wasted wake
but it's just a dreamers' paradigm
for those who weigh the give and take
balance, discord, and the ass
two of these, they know their place
the third evaporates on blades of grass
in morning sun and our fabricated space
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