By Christopher Caldwell
You do not breathe when violet skies fall
I do not listen to the beating drums
No one makes garlands of roses
Or crowns of thorns
We used to writhe naked in the rain
Mad with thunder and with wine
Skins sun-painted gold
Now we cannot even remember
The songs we once sung.
Our kisses no longer have violence.
Is there are a time for ending
Or do we all just fall away?
Christopher Caldwell is a 21-year-old in Los Angeles, who can be located via firstname.lastname@example.org or http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Lofts/9010
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