Skin-snapping wind kept our fingers alive
To feel around a higher shelf,
Where no one has been in so long.
Two pairs of lips sing one lovely song,
Repetitive, warm, flooding with longing.
Out on the shores of evening are headlights.
If only they would shine on you, tonight.
I have grown fond of talking to myself,
It keeps my affections sharp as nails.
But my passion and vigor pales
The longer I sit on this lonely swing.
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