I've done this too many times before.
A setting sun's lashes put eyes to the floor.
Her gravity pulls me away
From a door I've once taken
That pushes to stay shut.
"Come back!" said the crests,
Crashing white with the fright
Of accepting the flight that I'll inevitably take.
My thumbs are the breakers
On which her tears can break,
As the waning waves comb her hair made of sand
After I reread chapters, a pen in my hand.
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