with style
Eyes reflecting the moon, kindly.
Fireworks light them ablaze,
and the smoke summons a haze
of matching heart. I blindly
pay the cost to your maze,
and I lose myself for days.
When the smoke clears, I find
that I see one of two ways:
stumble to the end
or through the thorny hedge
back into loneliness.
I know that I'd only miss
your affection for a while
before I remember, again,
to be lonely with style.
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