Cornflower skies
rest upon our eyes
as we float on the fumes
of a brief eternity.

The magnetic fields of youth
draw our lips closer,
we realize we're dreaming
as we dream of reality.

I rewind this memory
on the broken screen
of a lonely afternoon.

We had to cut the summer
so we could run
towards the autumn,
the sound of scissors
still clear as a tear
in my ears.
Written by Mundus
Author's Note
I'd like you all to interpret this one the way you like.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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