Cup Of Life
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.
.
On a love-hill
In hand-held
Tip-toe
We escalated.
.
She sunder her hold
While I at mirth.
And murk
She took her birth.
.
Now as I walk on colorless nights.
At despair I close my eyes.
And I’m fooled by a touch.
That no longer exist.
.
The game now played
Life, at me they smirk!
A gift, a guide, or a hand mislaid
This touch, that fools me in murk?