worth of being so loved of you.
Words woven into the tapestry of us,
born out on our tongues
as promises; as longings. Given, like
gifts, lips plush pink as a bow.
We declare our hearts in one voice;
echoing out across those tempests
without once wavering.
We kiss beneath the boughs of
Time's sickle as if it were the branches
of a willow and there...
What happy fools we become.
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