a young midnight crawls darling to the dawn, to the dark that is spoken past the broken glass of yesterday, the rear windshield is gathered in the backseat, where the memory of its' near permanence still lingers sweetly, as if fingers, chances taking fate forsaken in all the dreams spilling from what the night filling, could no longer cradle, found roots in the cool quiet damp morning waits in the shadows with as the crescent herald fills the Sun again just beyond where the trees bend to you and how you love so sweetly
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