The laughter of lovers keeping sweet secrets
echoes in the air like bird song on the wind.
We made music with wine on honeyed days
we laughed in Italian made love in French.
Now I shuffle through long lost love letters
consigning memory to ashes.
I cannot revisit those sunlit orchards
these documents are only talismans.
They are not sacred records but magical tinder
if I am cold their flame shall warm me.
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