“When I look back, the Garden is a dream to me. It was beautiful, surpassingly beautiful, enchantingly beautiful; and now it is lost, and I shall not see it any more. The Garden is lost, but I have found him, and am content.” – Mark Twain, Eve’s Diary: After the Fall
Dancing in the Days of Early Summer Nights;
6 a.m. bedtime orders;
Kisses are our choice of barter.
Sweating behind contorted knees,
Foreheads compressed together.
Spooning to looming,
Déjà vu entitlement,
Heaven is where we went.
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