Would that this was pop-able
But it’s improbable
Because it’s invisible
Like a grey never ending sky
With black trees cut out of it
It’s a burn-out fabric
Found in a thrift store
Tom behind the counter
And a lilt to his accent – a lilt to everything he does
And you walking on the edge of something
And me holding your little hand, waterbear
Always invisible
Quite possible
So lovable

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