We can no longer create each other
in the likeness of ourselves. But
we still can love who we’ve dreamed
warm under covers,
in the slow melancholia of twilight.
Though separate, still a part
painting one another’s shadow —
an impression all our own.
We can no longer create each other
in the likeness of ourselves. But
we still can love who we’ve dreamed
warm under covers,
in the slow melancholia of twilight.
Though separate, still a part
painting one another’s shadow —
an impression all our own.
Words Of An Average White Male 
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Beautiful!
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Beautiful and surreal.
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