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Will baring my emotions though my poetry ever be enough?
Is it ever enough to wear my heart on my sleeve?
Are my emotions ever enough for anyone?
You've got a painful grip
on reality, with those
sun-burnt palms from
waiting with arms wide open
for someone to come back to you.

The sky unfolds before
your dry eyes
in layers and miles
of deceit and lies,
as the sun becomes the moon,
smiling borrowed light
down upon you.

Ridiculing your commitment.

Mocking your hallucinating mind
with illusions of grandeur,
and false relief,
in the face of the great grief
you hold so closely
to your heart.

I love you like this.

I love you when the curtains are drawn
and the light pours down around you
like an electrical hurricane.

I love you in the morning dawn
waiting for love to ground you,
while soaring through the pain.
We exhaled in the morning sun
shining through the Venetian blinds.

The slotted bars of light
were almost tangible in the haze
of swirling blue carcinogens,
and I reached out to touch them.

The dust motes dodged my slow
grasp nimbly, almost dancing
with my fingers in the ambiance.

Fascinated, I looked at her
to see if she shared in my awe,
and saw my illuminated hand
reflected in her glazed eyes
as if reaching for something
that I've held all along.
If I Hold Your Hand, I'm Holding On For Dear Life.
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