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kwaw
April 17th, 2010, 05:45 PM
Red Thread

Your red thread I wear upon my wrist,
once as scarlet as your lips,
has faded like the fallen flowers that feed
the evergreen and scattered seeds.

You once told me we are made of star stuff,
the same that dances in the stones,
just as ancient and as worthy of our awe.

Now your mouth is a lost forgotten country
from which I've long been exiled:
they say you wept as I was leaving,
as I weep for my return.