when smoke is sprawling through a dark sky and you can't see through it with the naked eye,
love fumbles over it's own two feet
as white lies keep it trekking on
and the sky looks like the ocean
and the moon's a jellyfish that's glowing
love surrenders, but why won't we let it?
the deepest rivers, while against the current
lasso all the tiny moments, put them in a row
shoot them one by one, then
bask in the afterglow
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