When Mourning Comes (and goes)

Lover’s Love evanescent, with your fast feet fleeing, you go where so few can, or even dare to follow. You leave us lost in the black, low hearts lamenting; in the mourning, we beat our breasts, and gnash our teeth. I have clawed at my flesh; ripped open my skin, and tried to escape this goddamned vessel spoiled by your fleeting touch. But! I’m nearly as quick as you now. And I do dare to follow. Because this time around, my Lover’s Love is worth the run.



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