Verses in December.

I crave dreams set in stone,
set to rhythms and poetry –
where blue ink smears and
the image of loving you is
still found on every page;
where futures are blended
with memories, and words
are more than a destruction
of promises. I crave desire
like the paper needs the pen
to bleed – masquerading as
the sonnet struck out in ink,
as I had once loved you in a
dream, and never stopped.

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