My body a tapestry
fingertip patterns
with your signature
all over.
My brain a canvas
music-filled
sound bound
with your own
codes.
Is there a limit
to my love?
Was there anything
there to be destroyed?
Our own carelesness
carved our days
so now there's
An incomplete tapestry,
an unfinished canvas.
Who are we to blame
the winter.
Who are we.
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