The steam from our first love rises to meet the expectation of the sky;
waiting in tropical climbs to form its own mountain ranges, vistas and canyons.
I am wrapped in vapor imagination that holds the old earth at bay. The old earth waits,
forced to deceive with every sunrise; forced to hide its beauty until wedding day.
Nothing is as it seems; it is so much more.
The sun will burn, and what remains is mine.
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