Gazes glowing less with dust and distance.
Few can pass passion through fashion's fall, pall
Of past's silence which is breath's death to haul.
Dusk's true danger descends on those who hide
From the night in brighter lives. I tried
And found only pell-mell smells of meaning,
Plus a cold sweat at threat of solitude's weaning.
But behind your eyes the sea's reasons speak
To salt's sharp sparkle on a beach's cheek--
And I am afraid of this foreign tongue,
Lapping clapping language as a sea's song sung.
Your nocturnal churnings, you too light to see,
Your laughter darkly blooming: I will let them be.
Come with me.
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