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Good Night

Kinda, sorta, at least, your friend;
But, how I miss being your lover.
I skulk about and hide your real name
Because daren’t blow your cover.
Miles apart, we sit together—
The sad aura of what might have been,
Wreaths us with the hint of faded platonic,
And a glance, without spark, in between.
The scandal and the shame,
Gossamer threats you dread,
But I’ll honor your mere shadow
As off alone I crawl into my bed.