9, Lines.

Far, you stand. I wait, then sit.

Lips too shy, too tame to wish.

Harsh, this wait. Blind love, fast fix.

Closed, our eyes too wide to miss.

Share told lies. Once true, now myth.

Bare, the stains. To God, I give.

Spare your words, if words exist.

Yours, am I.

In me, we live.

Vidale Barsir
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