Memories of what they had and lost
reproduced themselves like motion pictures in morose minds,
black and white, because the color of love had left their souls.
They ignored text messages, and deleted facebook pages,
and besieged blogs with letters on life
and bulletins of salacious semantics.
Their scent remained
the only reminder of what was,
the forbidden fruit of weekend love.
Casual encounters in the halls
led to brief signatures,
signed with the exchange of glances,
and the contact of their essence.
Windows peering into the truths
that they couldn't dare to say.
Roaming down the polar end of the dorm,
from the one who was magical, scarlet, and absolute
young lovers learned the luminous delineation
of passion and becoming.
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