Is it bad that the embers haven’t sparked,
erupted into full blown conflagration?
Passions bathed cool in boreal reason,
lips too reluctant to part ways.
Should each thought weigh a millstone,
an anchor around the neck?
Plummeting within this void zone,
indifference turns to sustenance.
A sickly plight of love’s respite,
permanent hiatus eclipses amorous light.
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