The nights aren't cold or damp.
There's dew on the grass and a shattered lamp.
The glass is a bearable pain.
Compared to this potential loss within this potential gain.
Can we talk over a moment of moonlight?
A glass of wine and our beautiful insight?
I could tell you everything here,
But from my mouth is more sincere.
So one day, once I'm ready.
I'll talk slow and breathe in heavy.
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