Only the Fourth
These gaps seem almost regular
And the days seem almost normal
Till I turn in my sheets again
Never dreaming
Always dreaming
Adjunct to remnants of a passion
Covered by the shawls of time
Igniting the wool of a threadbare distance
Slowly burning
Always burning
Another night I spend morose
Etching shapes into the hollow of my shoulder
Waiting for the engines to sputter silent
And for me to fall into you again
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