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I am expiring in expectation
The aspen trees dance and swim
In a sea of invisible labor
I am impressed with all the metaphors
You invented, only to describe
The daily massacre of beauty
Scheherazade swims in streams
Of unending disappointment
Her narrative slips from her hands
Like water through a broken bucket
Punctured promises release their longing
I am but an old story waiting to be told
But in the end there is a rhythm
That every child knows too well already
What a mystery that lies
Within the lies of my intellect
Who resides in dreams
And awakens in our defiant appliances
Eros transgresses
Upon trampolines of mind’s enjoyment
In basements of wonder
The youth wander aimlessly
I hit my head against your walls
To topple a cathedral that had to fall
Before we could ever truly be married
Seeing them
Lke that
One couldn't
Help but wonder
If they hadn't
Had their fill
Of wonder
For the day
Consumers of beauty
Rarely, truly, remind
Each other to breathe
short and sweet
may accurately
describe many things
but never once
a woman
Mistakes made freely
Given as holy offerings
To the Goddess of Creativity
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