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We lay in the grass under the orchard branches, hand in hand. The sadness is gone from my bones.
The dappled light across her sweet face shifts my gloomy soul.
The smell of the sun-warmed earth and ripening fruit tangled in my lungs pulls threads of wistful remorse. For were it known who owns my heart, I would be alone.
But this moment is mine, in the sun and honeyed warmth. Her ebony hair upon clover and plum blossom. Beneath the branches that raised me. Away from the darkening sky.