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Come, we’ll make of waiting
a kind of dream,
a testimony taken
after fate’s own heart
and turn it
into a work of art.
We’ll fill it with
beautiful rebel graffiti
burning like night
and street dancers
with passion
tattooed on their lives.

Surely romance has
enough ink to give
even this distance
some deeper meaning.
Surely we can rummage
through drawers of
the hopes we’d fed off
in the beginning
for old souvenirs
to string out along
this lonely boulevard
to make it less lonely.
Surely you can still
hold me in your mind.

Between pages and
pages of newsprint,
electronic transmissions
and the other cold remnants
of the world changing
around us are pressed
the fine petals from
our faithful summer.
The days that carry us
back to each other
again and forever
are painted on
the city dwellers’
collective dreams,
in soft watercolors.
Hush, love, and let these
last hours we’re apart
wash over us like rain.
Let them
run their course along
with the rest of the time
that fate has decreed
needs to pass between us.
The ripples, my love—
they are ours.
The miles that divide,
those walls, that sky:
everything is ours.
It’s only the flesh
that thinks otherwise.

“Sarah & Tim Paris Engagement”
by photographer Juliane Berry


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