Empty Beds

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I miss the human warmth,

in all of these connections.

A soul laying weight besides,

un-tethered in its cryptic glory.

the feel of a gentle cheek,

on the hurting trembling chin.

A wave of flowing hair,

caressing the fingertips of sin.

When exactly did I stumble this far beyond?

Seeking warmth in an ocean of glacial spawn.

Where exactly does my rest belong?

Searching aethers for the ever-gone.

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Guiltless

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Guiltless

The painted tips,

the scented flow,

of the river banks

with infinite links.

The sweet burn of cold.

A supper made for silk.

A journey that has no end,

in a forest rid of guilt.