The soft wooden clasp cracks open with a snap,
then the sibilant rasp of our bodies on the sofa
is the only sound we make after that.
This life passes to quickly -- only half
of yours has been lived. I'm sure you know by now
how we spend so much of our time seeking happiness;
we've found it for a spell, in the lingering sun.
The air smells like carnations and our wine, now drunk.
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