The Way We Talked

The way we talked
sad mumble jumble
incomplete thoughts
on a silly sultry
summer night when June kissed Luna goodnight.

That night we 
danced slowly
to a Viennese waltz
played by a 
rock band in
the empty street of shuttered store fronts where the dreamless slept.

Have we ever
learned anything
of each other
from the endless discourse of incomplete sentences without noun or verb?

At the dawn
Morrigan played
her silver flute
with her black
feathered fingers
and you became me
and I became you the final battle lost forever and we were now immortal.

Aphrodite found
her revenge
as we drank our 
morning coffee
with our croissants
that fed our bliss
and we wrote
our new poetry
and sonnets about futility of love we would share for eternity. 

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