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Footprints as the pastoral moon sang its tearful aria in the key of want some star-crossed dream was born daring the morning dew of conscience to intercede. from different times and directions, he and she came running, daringly, along the shoreline from distant, different sand castles, on a collision course predestined by the unknown, arriving toe-to-toe with night birds crying, twenty fingers groping, longing for the grip that would hold four hands together. and while the rest of their worlds slept, they kissed and re-lit a fire of confusion on that spot within their souls, aflame with questions, they embraced, transfixed, unmoving, until the sun appeared then, gazing down at what had brought them to their private place, here and now, looking beyond this spot over each other's shoulder, they cried in rhythm as they simultaneously wished they could see no footprints in the sand. |
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