With pale and yellow flowers
I came in these dark hours
to tell you
I love you
completely
mourning
you see me
and greet me
sincerely, with depression
how long have we been silent?
When did the color fade from
these pansies in my hands?
when did we dance
and have we
forgotten
the rhythm
that'd driven
our prance?
In France, I dream
of finer things
that keep me
from,
progression.
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