If my thoughts were objects they’d be contorted,
morphed into an altered form;
alike a cloud or mist that hovers… solely isolated.
If my tears could be collated
they’d form a stream of regret,
a river of all I wish could be realiterated.
If my feelings were on a canvas they’d be the merge
of colours that make up a Sunset:
brush strokes placed spiradically on diverge.
If my heart could wander it would be filled with the urge
to rediscover it’s warmth with you,
only then would love resurge.
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