Quarter to five, early morn
as curtains debate cessation
And you'd reappear in lieu,
a figment of imagination.
Once cafard, you'd proceed, to
recite shades of glum poetry.
And I'd listen to it being read
that written for you by me.
As within these verses lies, what
would've otherwise been said
ideally, lust and ideally, love;
but its not an ideal world now, is it?
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