Our time dims twilight to our birth,
as we forecast a spring never-ending,
our blossom forever in bloom.
We share optimistic lies,
wishing on an unlikely future.
Our intimacy radiant,
our souls heated its Indian summer.
We’re cosy in our nest’s bosom,
snuggling into conversations
of all imagined and true.
Here our nursemaids pour us
cocktails of convivial love.
We’ve a den here.
A haven of ease.
To soothe our tough young times;
healing us from the world’s wrath.

Time spills
as our nests shrinks exposed and empty;
abandoned by chicks fulfilled by flight.
We’ll ascend to heights unimaged
far the dreams conceived
in our den’s carnal embrace.

Our sombre future holds friends
with faces of strangers.
Where our eyes will avert.
Scanning for gazes ulterior
to the ones that once called us friend.

Though today we promise bonds infinite.
Our family birthed through word and will.
Realities pregnant in promise.
Our ties yet to be tested


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