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Promise us.

Quiet now,
my little one. Hush.
We have taken steps to our private retribution.
I heard that we don't feel the same -
it was told by someone else
unto me, yet passed
by you. Hurts home,
my pretty one.
I swear all has changed,
since two days ago
we were okay.
Yet
I find when we are alone,
here I don't see another way
of running back.

Now the curtains have closed
and the doors are bolted.
It is such sweet shame
and
yet
we are
quiet now
finally.

There were gaping holes in our best of plans,
with two steps back I saw, and I smelt, and I tasted
our disdain. 
Soiled shame - we could not run from here.
I guess there'll be some other way
with some other player on some other day
and spring will show it's awful face
whilst our bodies burning in after-taste.
Yet we are
quiet now
finally.

I suppose it's all we had to give
and
now the stations have posted their decline.
I don't know if the stations will change such upper-class choice
but the trains come and go and we can't wait.
Turn back for them.

Our homes and lives and lines had been forgotten.
'I love you.'
It's all you needed to know
when I was soft and sweet and needing sleep,
I love you
is all I have to give.
Yet
we are
quiet now
finally.
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
Published
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