I did not know then that I strolled through orange, Autumn days in
the pain of incompleteness; in fact, I can recall so vividly the shape
of it beside me, the rhythm of its pulse and heat of breath,
but its whispered words must have escaped silently
along the faded evening.
Occasionally, I find myself searching for its dim companionship,
at times when the sun drapes low into the tide-
all too similar to the quiet moment of waking alone
in the absence of morning light
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