• Vol. 03
  • Chapter 09
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I watch the seasons of your locks,
and ache to embrace when doldrums weigh.
I love your eyes, yet my past mocks
when I fear to hold your welcome gaze
and skirt the colour they encase.

I want to touch yet dread the burn:
the searing rejection surely there.
Perhaps the HC owned by CERN
could make us whole somewhen, somewhere,
or get me out of your sweet hair.