Fingers, are they not rays of sunshine, or at least so delicate, your finest lover, if her or his were crushed? is it not so much more a travesty?
These simple vines, strumming until they're embedded, beating with a soft but forceful start, all for the finality of a drop, that begins where the heart stops.
a goodbye to eyes, an eternal recess from the light, you **** the chorus in our minds, hoping that either one of us finds, you again.