SLUMBER TRUMPETS

love is like slumber trumpets.
It’s all the same, really being different.
but somehow you quit winningÂ
before you play.
our notes bleat and percolate
in the gypsum of our dross.
we burn through heavens
like bearer bondsÂ
but foster shadows
on the dark side
of the sun.
at a loss.
Â

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