Oh Love!

Bleak ice-blue walls thickening still

All frosty; naught moist nor turgid

So cold. So polite. Desolate…

I have left her

I should be with you

Yet we are bereft…

It should be you here

It was all for us

Pyrrhic this victory.

Bleak ice-blue walls thickening still

All frosty; naught moist nor turgid

So cold. So polite. Desolate…

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