There
will always be next year.
He
can close his eyes, move his head away
But
will I be able to still see the sea?
A
close question, he still speaks to me,
Just
about believing in me,
Like
I once believed about him,
My
love,
My
demonic honey,
All
I asked you to do, was look at me
But
you won’t, and that riles me
And
you love doing it,
Teasing
me, for my temptation,
I
would tell you where to go
But
that would make me the fool,
For
what you can do
Is
beyond the blueness of sea and speech.
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