Pretend that I am not here
And that it is the wind that places a cold hand upon your face, brushing against your lips
Pretend that I am not here
And that is the crackling fire amidst the biting frost that warms you in soft, feverish embrace
Let the rains of April give you an excuse to shiver in sheer bliss, quaking at every reverberation of gentle reveration
Let June's grace and chilled honeyed milk mask the sweet, sweet taste of my...
Shh, pretend that I am not here
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