Gone

His wind is gone.
Blown to the low hanging sunset
that paints his crumble smile, orange.
He is without the strength
for the chase. His desperation
is aloof. His arms, fall flagrantly,
calling the earth for a  hug. They [can] only long
to hold firmly his limbs, to pull them,
as breath into his lungs, closer.
Such strength has found
courtship, long with his wind.

Gone.

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