Ten o'clock of January 15th was
Nine weeks apart.
Eight paper cranes he folded - on each was her name and a wish he made on
Seven stars and the moon that night: Camille, please be back.
Six rumors greeted him in the morning - "She's gone," they chanted.
Five times he wept and drained
Four bottles of wine that didn't numb his heart. Alas!
Three well-rehearsed words blistered
Two souls that were meant to be apart:
One barely survived when the other turned to dust.
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Untitled by KASH
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