January 21, 2k18
As the mist inspissates,
bedimming the vision around,
my hope for you becomes
amorphous and vague.
As the clouds grow tenebrous,
so does the welkin of my heart
with your tortorous absence.
And as the day shrivels,
deprived of light, so does my life,
provoking prolonged obscurity,
without you in it.
Winter's a de trop season
for forlorns like me,
foolishly awaiting the dawn
of utopian wonder.
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