Whispers under patchwork quilts, 

Linked arms under twirling pink umbrellas,

Fresh coffees set down beside keyboards at dusk,

Blankets wrapped over tense shoulders.

On some days they seem a distant timeline,

On others just beyond the next threshold.

Another season, another ‘morrow, 

Seldom a triumph cataloged in a photo album,

Often a fizzle souring into a library of sorrows,

Yet, sanguinity reigns over the scales.

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