Our hands fell together as we walked.
A route akin to what we are familiar with.
We lend each other words and syllables, finishing off our sentences with descriptions of pictures seen and imagined.
The sun lay between us as we slept.
Awake now the moon hums to us, we know not each other anymore...
Our songs are in dialects differed.
Our hands rivers and seas apart.
At least we had that one moment.
At least, we can ...
can we build upon broken stems?
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