the way it should have been

everything was so wrong
so we sang sentimental songs,
oh how seldom we belong
but how elegant our kiss.
and we painted crooked lines
but we danced in perfect time
to a love so much refined,
we know not what it is,
so like a dullen wine we pour
into a grief we knew before
but it's never quite like this.
no, never quite like this.
-a.w.

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