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Catching Rye Flames

My light hunts yours
like warm to flame
is cold to dark
away from you,
our light corrupts
hunting with haunted empathic hearts
for winwin Catchers for Self-Pitchers
in light’s rye harvest.

My catch embraces your dark light
like warm to pitchy branches
win to win love’s relief,
then fall apart,
leaves composting soul
living room for Time’s future lights.

Your light finds ours
like cooperative warm transactions
to political relational light
nesting color-dense regenerate health trends,
organizing ecosystems of dynamic light
as Time’s self-perpetuating love
for coincidental adventures in wonderland.

My light hunts yours
like haunting, yet happy, flames of warm memory.

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