Your sorrow sits upon my lips,
a weight I carry sip by sip.
I kiss the air where words have died,
the space between
your breath and pride.
You tremble like a storm-held tree,
your roots all wound too tight in me.
I brush the tears you won’t let fall—
each one a world,
each world a wall.
If love could lift what time has bent,
I’d kiss the dusk till morning lent
its gold to all your shadowed places,
the cracks where light
still chases traces.
But here we are—your hand in mine,
two silent clocks outticking time.
I’ll kiss the hours from your skin,
and hold the ache they leave within.
#love
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