I can breathe the air of winter as my fingers cool.
I can breathe the air of spring with all those flowers and allergies.
I can exhale the air of autumn when the ground prepares for falling leaves.
I can exhale the air of summer when it is full of heat.
But, I have yet to breathe your air as you exhale.
I have yet to kiss those lips, fragile and timid.
I have yet to touch your fingers and hear you whisper my name.
If I believe the seasons of God's creation
I know I never will.
I can breathe the air of spring with all those flowers and allergies.
I can exhale the air of autumn when the ground prepares for falling leaves.
I can exhale the air of summer when it is full of heat.
But, I have yet to breathe your air as you exhale.
I have yet to kiss those lips, fragile and timid.
I have yet to touch your fingers and hear you whisper my name.
If I believe the seasons of God's creation
I know I never will.
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