Slope of Evening

This faded love
To you I send
So ashen pale
Did lately bloom.
Now bones in clay
Pale-lit below
Alone remain.
Were I the embers
Breath to lend
From ghostly grey
The flame again
Would spring at ready;
To what end?
Except to rend
Our hearts again.

Then follow down
Would my spent frame
To death, the dear
Departed flame.







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