Saturday, July 6, 2013

Given

I want you to have this photograph
(I don't know why)
I want you to have these letters 

For they mean nothing to me now. 

But this life and its already arrived, 
When you have gone...
And I am clothed in ashes...
And you are the sleeping child.

I want you to have my epitaph 
For it was written to you...
Without ever knowing...
And when the purest fruit 
Of the vine 
Has gone sour, 
Frozen hands of the warmest spirits 

Will destroy the fear for good. 

A n d   I   C a n   L o v e   Y o u   C o m p l e t e .

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