Love has a time when it begins
experience tells me
time also diminishes the passion of it
within the very flame of love
there lives a kind of wick or snuff
that extinguishes it
nothing stays always at the same level of goodness
it gathers like an inflammation
then dies of its own excess
a bottle of white wine
a club sandwich
chicken wings
snugged up the cushion seat
high up at Altivo
surveying the land of Singapore
a wet misty night
a wonderful somebody
praising the excellence of His name
no paintings of sorrow
an embrace of loving spirit
therein lies the cries of fate
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