Under weathered daisies
allegedly buried, but mindfully present
an old-timer - well past his prime,
beneath a cold etched granite marker
in the gut-wrenching hope,
that she might willingly return
to  recall the pleasant times at his soil,
as he oft did at hers
   his unanswered love,
   his perpetual embrace
He would caress her with his stone
hands, devoutly wishing for the white heat
...

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