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mûre Jul 2012
August
Even then, you know, you
were right about one thing-
I -am- insecure. That, which
unsettles me to my
core of worth
was the selfsame fuel
for pathos with you,
my foe.

September
See, I was all too willing
pressing my ear against floorboards
to catch echoes of smear, until
I bled crimson anguish.

October
I became infatuated with your name,
entranced by your body, identity that had
shared such a ferocious similarity with mine,
that we have both riddled our helpless portraits
in the heart of hazel eyes with the beautiful
terrifying wonder of *what-if-always?


November
The more ghastly your claims, the more
affixed I become for your passion for me, I
could feel your heat crawling from the coast,
a welcome malaise.

December
You know, often I've felt caresses though your skin.
A shallow breath as if against your neck-
wrapped as tightly as you must have,
and I wonder at how it must have been
such a
bitter
bitter
bitter
broken.

January
I pay attention to you, I
read what you write, I
listen to what you sing,
it's not a healthy addiction but
how could I possibly help myself?

February
I didn't plant a flag so much as
stumble over a root
I didn't steal so much as
find
I didn't dictate so much as
quietly ask.

March
Possible, that the heart of your extortion was envy,
though envy of what, I may only guess.
I suppose, the bottom line is, we're both imperfect,
good-trying people who are shattered with the terror
of vulnerability.

April
When I realized this, I could have
cradled you like a sister. I could
finally see through your eyes.

May
I'm not a viper.
I'm simply a piece of you, as you
are a piece of me.

June
In this way we will be
forever bound together,
hollow with each others' desolation,
Tossing with opposite bedfellows of doubt
Slowly ******* out the same poison.

July
The funny bit is-
in another life
we could have been friends,
and all I can do is write letters,
letters to miss Anne,
that I shall never
ever send.
mûre Apr 2013
Get out. Get out of here.
If anybody poisoned the waterhole
it was certainly you.
Put the squish of your smile away
Why sheaf the knife in a lipsticked rictus
if it's going to end up in my back all the same?
Oh, spare me the theatrics.
If you only mean me harm
I'd rather know.
So that I can curtsey
and take the high road.
Mentor, if you taught me anything
during that winter
it was not to be weak.
And so you have my best regards.
And now you may get out.
mûre Feb 2015
I said it, because it felt so nice to say and
because I can say it very well
-in the moment I meant it
but it's a bitter familiar spell
I've memorized the phonetic stitches the
spacing that knits a magic fleece that
when draped over the shoulders of the mightiest
turns them back to boys, gives full release
the belief
that love, real love, can be-

I can teach any man to fall in love with love...
just not in love with me.
mûre Feb 2012
the sea was malaised
heaving waves against the cliff
waters all moaning
mûre Jul 2012
As usual, he was slightly elevated.
They had their roles, the boy on stage right
the ******* the beer-stained linoleum
beneath the red and blue strobes.
He, unconsciously dancing.
She, dancing self-consciously.
The boy sets his brow and takes his solo
masterfully, delicately, jauntily.
His secret is he makes it up every time
Her secret is that she already knows
the cartography of the next sixteen bars
as if it were her fingers on the strings-
that's the way it always is.
After five years, what could you expect?
The room cries out his name.
The girl quietly damns him.
Resents him for doing everything so
******* perfectly- his work, his genius,
and his worst offense of all:
having loved her harder
than anyone else will
ever be able to.
mûre Jan 2015
I am spooked
you are everywhere,
you are everywhere like
the floaters, as soon as I
try to track you, focus
on your image
you race ghostly into my periphery
dancing just out of reach
you are everywhere,
you are everywhere-
I am spooked.
mûre Oct 2012
Dear, you see I sift
through my iron ***
of rainy-day pennies and
furled up victory flags
I feel the weight of each
piece and the cold of their
touch on my palms and I
try to pick one I want-
it is all fool's gold.
All it will buy is time.
Turn on the garden hose
and call for sun-
It's time to make
rainbows.
mûre Aug 2012
62%- approximately how often the sky responds
usually it tells me to lay off caffeine
or lay off romance
or to forgive myself, cause 'for chrissakes
no one else will if I can't'
47% is approximately how often the earth becomes
jealous of this lofty exchange
usually muttering entreaties not to forget about it-
that my worries would be farther and few should I
simply sit down from time to time to
baptize my motivations in the good mud.
The sun becomes monosyllabically irate 3% of the time
"Hey. Hey! YOU! HEY!"
Lunar crooning aloes my ears for 9%, there, there, lost one.
98% of the clouds tell me to move
but the percentages are all off,
so I'll **** a finger
raise it to the wind
and let some humour front into
my apprehension, because the weather
tells great jokes, because no matter
how wrong the weatherman is,
there's always at least a 50% chance
of sun.
mûre Mar 2014
Never disappear or inhibit
never ridicule
feelings are fuel
the ride is long but worth the mileage
the more fuel you have, the more people you can take with you,
the farther you can go, the more you will understand.
Your sadness, your loneliness, and your anger built your name, they made you move and brought you to me. Your joy, tenderness, humour, these are what build your body, these make you, these feelings will take you.
Take me too.
mûre Jul 2012
It was so vivid I could
feel my chest compressing
as I ran, crippled with sobs.
The betrayal was a knife
It was a furnace and my
feet hurt as I flew across the
city. When I punched out my
bedroom window I could feel
the glass separating my knuckles
and I contemplated the destiny
of the larger shards. I awoke as one
resuscitated from drowning
resuscitated from death
gasping, shaking, reeling
d e m a t e r i a l i z e d
and began to cry as I
performed yogic breathing
exercises and went limply through
the worn out motions to
assuage heart attack symptoms.

They know they know
even follow me
follow me when I'm asleep.
My God.
mûre Jan 2012
Having fallen enchanted with terabytes
And crackle static audio that
kissed my cochlea
at arms length a thousand miles away
i realized with fear my folly
And the cursed blessing of feeling your butterflies.gif
As pixelated and intangible as
your portrait freezing before me
a betrayal to our union
a betrayal of our humanity
full of blood and heat and scent
when warmth is plastic beneath palms
when the fan cannot keep up with fervor
when solace is typed in syllables, sacred,
that do not err or lose their way in translation
And now i am Pygmalion
prostrate before his masterpiece
Clutching his beloved rock
And waiting for lightning.
******* long distance.
mûre Jan 2012
The half-world crumpled its face in morning
The light, gold and white, fell down upon you
Your face, demure, unaware of the warning
It might, gold and white, shine the more true

That lidded light upon your closed eyes
Siren-calling you from the reverie
Rising before you in all her disguise
Rushes through dreams to your Garden of Ede

Now swiftly, surely does she clasp
With lovers' abandon she twists at your hair
Each morning: mute surrender to her grasp.
Beneath the light, gold and white

lay the dreamers bereft and bare.
mûre Mar 2013
Underneath all of the sea
silver pennies lie
in the echoes of wishes
that fasten me to the sand
dreaming beneath the blanket
of a manta ray, exhaling bubbles
to the astronomy of jellyfish
as I'm rocked in the crush of all the earth's gravity
cradled deeply
within the songs of whales
twenty thousand leagues below the stars.
mûre Nov 2012
There are certain tones that pierce us-
the tremulous "I..." which precedes the first
halting "...love you."
The static of a stilled phone line
a lace tying two ends of the country
that carried happy birthday to a dear ancient man
"Thank you sweetheart," in the same voice as his son
knotting my throat in the lonely homesickness
of a true Father's Daughter.
There are certain tones that pierce us-
those which remind us of what is most beloved
and what we must accept to lose.
mûre Nov 2012
I feel the answer to approaching adulthood gracefully
is to chronicle your life in Stuart McLean vignettes.
Spoken like Bach. Rubato. Cadential.
Lovingly. With humor.
Because you will notice, you see,
that job burnout, the belly fat,
and the dent in your bike are all crispy
slices of burnt toast
on the warm Christmas radio sound of
Saturday morning CBC.

They don't matter.
And that's exactly what makes
these stories beautiful.
mûre Apr 2012
there is a secret code
a safe word for days that i
i have won and lay myself down
with your body knowing i
i have not broken my vessel
this boat i'm
i'm trying to carry us both in

i feel your heat and breath
full of helpless understanding
with want of my salvation

and your: Answers

you wear my anguish as a sunburn
when my eyes shine hotly
radiation and rubble
bits of shrapnel from love
that embed in your skin
in your skin that doesn't have a home

i sweep and dust my heart
i scrub it ****** and raw
set up a kick drum and boil the kettle
i wish you were comfortable here

    (don't shift uneasy on the sofa
      hands clasped politely in
      someone else's living room)

i am as constant as the southern pole
i wish you would fly to me
without frog-dissecting the mystery
of belonging somewhere

i wish i could keep you
and let our roots entwine

i wish i could free you
wish you away with a dandelion

i wish i could know you
render English or some language
articulate the great ropes
that weave what has somehow kept us together
when the ship went down

will you be an autumn, love?
will you be beautiful and frosty as it dies?

will we season, love?
will we cycle as unbreakable as time?

there is a code word
for days that are alright
that will chase the calendar
    i) as i will chase you now
    ii) as i will stop chasing you
    iii) as i will chase you always

until there is a knowing
until we choose our winters glowing

   (not bound by chains
    just fortified by sewing)

with every stitch and pull
every ***** and row
until there lies embroidered
the archaic ancient murmurings
of the dead language
of knowing when
and trusting

"Happy."
mûre Apr 2013
out of beautiful spirals of dna
I'm so glad they settled on you
my sweet scientist
my clever clover
my favourite pair of genes.

If we chose our samsara
If I could bring you back
and you could bring me back,
I'd do this again.

And again.

I wouldn't change a single thing about you.

I wonder how many lives I've already spent loving you?

Happy Birthday, darling.
mûre Sep 2012
autumnal leaves scent your hair
weaving the reverie of stranger summers
of smoke and arboreal decay
bone-fingers, ceramic mug
shivering *** under the wool
   these septembers bewitch me,
   their wincing smile-
   how good it is
   to feel so sad.
mûre Nov 2014
Chill, dust rising with the fall of your head
upon your chest, intonating the etches of
your open journal, coastal rain, a steady drip through the
weakened roof of the abandoned artist loft:

I listen
you listen
no talk
no talk


Your lips pursed tight, catching my breath
to hold space for so sorry a sight,
my hands clasped against the cold and the sad
The abandoned paintings paying a silent vigil, blue, purple

I listen
you listen
no talk
no talk


Your cadence intensifies, your chin trembles almost imperceptibly
your furrowed brow holds the space for anger, for pain
and I want to grasp your wrists, close the book, fold you into me like the heartwood of an ancient tree- quiet, strong
the rain still falls
the dust rises tall

I listen
you listen
no talk
no talk


Your words aging us both in moments
in truths as heavy as deaths
as you speak plainly the pity of the unsaid
sowing the pattern that brought us lower than earth

I listen
you listen
no talk
no talk


You should have told me to be stronger.
I should have told you to stop.
mûre Aug 2012
Feet bare, barring caution
Cries shrill to the good folk-
My- my dog- have you seen him?
Grasping the evaporating shoulders of passerby
-Haven't seen him. I think he's in the ocean. Have you-"
Each soul turns, vanishes like a noonday specter.
Feet slap down the splintering boardwalk
Sand, sand, dark sand, rush of foam, knifing cold-
WHERE ARE YOU-
She lifts the waves like blankets
Buries beneath them under
the hush of salt
and...
mûre Jul 2012
i need a healing song
playing cobbler to my soul
so young and so weary old
i stare down the sun
not even fighting
praying to melt
gentle ever as i've felt
i'm a boulder grounding lightning
pet the cats in the cages
raise inner children into sages
i need to throw my skin
like... like a spooked horse
and be blank again.
i'm a frenzied little star
waiting for a big bang
to confetti my cosmology
turn the skeletons to friends.
my body has turned so wrong.
my heart's been broke so long.
i need, i need a healing song.
won't you, won't you sing to me?
nobody, nobody gonna sing to me
nobody but
me.
mûre Apr 2012
when the words are spoken
and i draw in air to sketch my lungs
til they spin the clay of my being
like startled doves spiral upwards
in a rustle of light
the cathedral within my mind
glows in sapphire shards
made incandescent by
my stained glass window eyes
there is a music box strain echoed in my pulse
unborn lullabies
that i shall spend my entire life humming
from the highest bough of an elm
feet bare against bark
in the warm cosmic dark
in this sturdy little body i build around around my heart.
mûre Jun 2015
her mouth is an ocean of spells
her heart is a forest of beasts
her eyes are tinder for stars
mûre Jul 2012
one diamond winter evening
for want of a human heart
i scaled an ancient mountain
only to find there was no air
and died quiet beneath aurora
and the glacier's doleful stare.
mûre Jun 2015
his mouth is an empty church
his heart is a steady horizon
his eyes are the way home
mûre Mar 2013
I got tired of being broken,
so I fixed myself
and added a patio.
Eating disorder. Conquered.
Depression. Conquered.
Panic disorder. Conquering.

And I've taken up violin. You know.

You have the power to actively build the life you dream.
Never, ever underestimate that ability.
mûre Dec 2013
It must sound novel enough to uplift you
but familiar enough to be nostalgic.
So that you feel as though you are Home...
but ready to believe in love again.
This happened recently to me with the song "What are we waiting for?" by Amiina. Some wonderful things are happening in Iceland. Come live with me in Iceland?
mûre Mar 2014
I can
like you ever
love you always
celebrate your strengths
adore your weaknesses
cherish your mind
respect your distance
accept your path
make you laugh
support your passions
watch you grow
be your friend

I can't
ever give back
the days and hours
you choose
to keep
p u s h i n g
me out of
your life.
Life is too short.
mûre Jan 2013
Were Love a fragrance,
would it settle like a hummingbird
at your throat- or would it become
trapped under your hair, shimmering pinkly
oxytocin shaken out in your bursts of joy
Love, like an orange peel.

Would it be that sound is the body of Love?
Is it tucked into your quiet sighs
as forever as a child, is it the raucous laughing cry
of delirious grandiose 2am Love on crowded streets,
or afternoon halfsleep philosophies on the human condition?
Or the very quiet promises, and Love is the vow.
mûre Nov 2014
The one who got away
crossed my heart with steps so soft-
I'm holding my breath
just to hear them.
mûre Nov 2014
floating delightfully with a million rounded
colours, a deep and delicate pressure
we gazed through our collective transparencies at
a magnified love; full of a single breath until
suddenly we-
mûre Mar 2012
Curious blues with little voices
Curious hands with little voices
Blues long to ask, to capture/
Hands yearn to tell, to free.
Pressed firmly into the sound of half-dream/
When my soul murmurs in a little blue voice
In blue ink writes itself down.
mûre Jul 2013
If you should ever mourn
for the trickery of distance
take heart, my clever love
for I am there.

I never left you.

Close your eyes.
Can't you feel me?
The Trans-Canada Highway winds all through your veins
and I'm travelling from limb to limb, leaving mementos in all your provinces.

Inhale, your cranium is my house.
Our mingled memory, the portraits of every hallway
reanimating CBC radio conversations of our own frequency.

Now...
Open your eyes.
They are my electricity.
You need merely to exist
to keep turning me on.

Listen to the silence, the thrum of blood in your ears
is my car pulling into our driveway-

Speak words of love, for your mouth is my bedroom-

Look closer-

And I know you will see us plainly.

We are never, ever apart.
mûre Oct 2012
August nights are deceptive
in almost every way.

Chivalry may only go so far
two blocks in the dark.
Pausing in natural progression
cross-legged pavement within a 70s orange halo
to pet the neighborhood cat and to measure
the circumstances of the crossroads.
To measure up the exhausted opponents
of the oldest colosseum.

your frown spoke only negations
betrayed by your truth-or-dare eyes.
whites revealing an ancient wound,
irises concealing an urgency
that spread to me on the sidewalk
like purple chalk on the driveway
Or tendrils of ink in water.

I watch the Janus of your being
oscillate like glass
afraid of breaking itself.

The mouth that denies
is the mouth that calls its own bluff
Renouncing its resolve all over
damp trembling skin and
the high of oxytocin.

I'll... I'll see you again tomorrow?

August nights are deceptive
in almost every way.
mûre Feb 2013
And when she told me, eyes flashing,
"the one most important value is to love yourself"
I asked her in one breathbut how do you
love the   self
   the            self      that
the self that is in transition,
evolving, im(ex)ploding
colouring over tradition?

How shall I love what I do not even know?


And when my Morrie, starting to quiver
turned from solid to liquid
she said in one breathyou gather up those
*******-i-n-g pieces and you love them
you love them s-o h-a-r-d anyway


And that's when it dawned
that I'd be okay.

In a Sherlockian air, her slender fingers touched tips
like a steeple over the one safe altar she knew,
herself.

And so, as I began to build,
I knelt at the steps.
mûre Dec 2014
My heart- a heavy, locked door
with a cat flap
*I've always struggled with boundaries
mûre Nov 2012
The trouble with writing a
relationship through technology
is that the bygones are never gone.

Why do I pour a drink in your absence
and settle to re-read our old fights, heartbreaks
like *******, lips parted, heart racing?

I shudder through those weeks where you petted me, darling
but could scarcely afford to feed me the same heart
being doggedly masticated in the maw of another
I trace over my retinas the lines where you didn't,
wouldn't, couldn't love me, they scan me
for my identity.
My mug shot, beside
hers.

After how little it meant, how can you possibly love me now?

I could edit these now, you know, you're able to do that.
Everything I wish I had been and said.
The pages left blank, I should've painted red.

In the spaces, hiatuses, I recall your ill-suited suitors
I can't tell whether I feel grief, jealousy, or ecstasy.
At the time, you know, it was like falling upon
The Secret Garden
unbefouled by poison nor passion
to inhale the heady scent of white rose
and discover the brim of someone else's hat beneath the foliage.
The place wasn't secret. Oh, it wasn't mine. Never ever was mine.

I'm ahead of myself. Oh, for want of technology.
We courted on Facebook and Gmail,
it was a convenient torture, given the circumstances.

Now my mate belongs where I do.
Loving, tenderly, wisely true.

I cannot start loading the page for the future
so much as delete our archive,
a prelude to love
written in diminished chords,
sung by the jilted and ghosts.
mûre Nov 2014
I am the salmon
that struggled all the way up to the bear.
mûre Aug 2013
Cast me a stone, all ye who are able
I'm certain all that lies herein tells a fable.
If it made things hurt less, I'd bite at a bone
But I relish the taste of what I wish I had known.
If only you were gone. If only you were here.
My diary has become more deadly than dear.
mûre Dec 2012
I resolve to achieve health
Physically.
I resolve to not lose weight,
to celebrate my strong woman-ness,
to go to bed earlier,
and never forget sunscreen.

I resolve to achieve health
Psychologically.
To have courage against the stigma
of needing someone to talk to,
to cry when appropriate
and to take every opportunity to laugh.

I resolve to love you
Deeply.
To honour you with my
thoughts and movements,
to compromise and support,
to adore you with all my heart.

I resolve to find my resolution
Not at the end, but rather in the turning of things,
I resolve to move.
I resolve to give.
Within every struggle
I resolve to live.
mûre Nov 2013
You could win my heart with peanut butter
or with passion for the never ending quest
of finding the perfect running shoes.

You could win my heart with literature jokes
with Kishi Bashi, Bach, or Bocelli
and if you play with me, I'm yours.

You could win my heart with affection
honesty, cleverness, and candidness,
I'm addicted to non-corporeal human evolution.

But I'd rather you didn't.
Not yet.
I'm a very simple equation.
(Just don't try to solve me)
mûre Mar 2013
My whole body is an itch I cannot scratch
fingers cannot find any inch of skin that will release me.
My heart wears cashmere- what fancy torture
my lungs corset-laced with wool yarn- sewn in, out, in, out
my sleeps are restless, riddled with half-dreaming and talking aloud
my waking- quick, jolting
and I tumble out of repose, electric, electronic
jitterbugging with the urgency of an itchy soul.

I need to move.
My insides know it.
mûre Nov 2012
words of love are my
most precious currency.

my heart is a silver dollar
that I keep for sentimental reasons
I would leave it beneath my pillow for you, love,
in exchange for petty coin.
The value of our objects is nothing
in comparison to what they hold.
You cannot buy the heart I gave you.
For all the King's horses, I'd not sell your soul.
mûre Dec 2012
to enhance the contrast of your fingers grazing my scalp.
I want to paint my mouth
so your smile can't help but redly mirror mine.
I wish to waste away gracefully
so that you'll have to hold tighter.
I want to disappear slowly
so I feel your love concentrate in each cell
bright like lamps in snow
until each dims.

I'm not superficial
I'm just addicted to touch.
mûre Nov 2014
Break my will, but not my heart
break your word, but not my heart
break my mind, but not my heart
it was broken long before the start.
mûre Jan 2012
Verbosity
A patchwork quilt that I roll roll up in
Stitched with syllables
Like a little phonetic sausage
So deep inside you can't hear me go
Dur dur dur.
(insert self-deprecating quip about being a wiener)
laughing track
But it's cozy and neat.
And if you do
I'll rubix cube your dearest mind
Til I'm tucked deep inside once again.  

And I'll softly pontificate about the genetic code
and how it made your irises not quite hazel
But still able to illuminate spontaneously
teal, laurel, cyan, the sea
And if you'll pardon my hyperboles
They draw me strong as an Atlantic tide
This ocean that ***** me the deepest inside
Aesthetically, the contrast is startling to your skin
An artist would capture the portrait therein
But really, all you need to know
Is they're the prettiest
prettiest ******* eyes
I've ever seen.

And I'm sorry
That when I get nervous
My heart is a little effervescent
My words become too efflorescent
(I seek not to strangle you with King's English Shrubberies!)  
As you stand before me, incandescent
My dread is that you're
Evanescent.

...

But that thing about your eyes.
All you need to know.
That thing about your eyes,
Not to mince words

But I think

I'll feel that way always.
mûre Dec 2012
Mean? No, you misunderstand me-
the lady is not cruel.

She's just a goodly heart
surrounded by a moat of alligators.
mûre Jul 2012
you're playing piano
notice naught but your psalm
as i drink my soy milk
trace your name in my palm.

you're stumbling through chords
i'm stumbling through feelings
it's my quiet reward
the delight of revealing

scripting my secrets
growing more bold
things i've far yet to tell you
things i've already told.
mûre Jan 2013
A family man, running spandexed and puffing
reaches into the stroller at the crest of the hill
as the day sighs away the last of its dusk
hands a three year old a flashlight
and makes her a secret-wink promise.
You'll move so quickly on your path,
it's your duty to carry a light with you
to keep you and others safe.


A stern man and a hot scratchy washcloth
removing a Spice Girls bubblegum tattoo from
the nose of a seven year old, molecule by molecule.
As soon as you get caught up in superficiality,
that's when you'll make mistakes. Don't make
mistakes that will last.


A medic man returns from a surgery
from a rural village with more kindness than money.
Lays a basket of apples and a banana loaf on the table
in lieu of a cheque and says:
There will be opportunities in your life for
your actions to define the kind of person you are-
always take them-

and never forget your common humanity.


An animal man bursts into the room
with a puppy as new as a sparrow
gamboling, loving, seeking faces and laps.
When choosing your first dog, look for
one that has more loyalty than shrewdness.
Choose your friends that way, too.


A tired man breathes deeply instead of shouting
at the quivering teen and the confession of the bumper
and the scratch that shouldn't have happened.
Hurt softly with the truth.... but never with lies.

A romantic man recounts his history
raising his eyebrows at the score of his frolics
and makes me swear to fall madly in like
with every soul who my heart should kiss-
but Love, reserve Love as the most sacred
of words, deeds, beings. When you Love,
you and he shall become one another,
and be one life.


A sentimental man wears a silver crown
at the head of his dinner table meditating in
silence after the laughs and mayhem of his
family clan have subsided to the fireplace.

He looks at his daughter.
She looks at her father.

The fullness of her adult face
and Polish eyes reflect in his irises
blue inside blue inside blue inside blue-
making any separation between them
redundant, intangible, like-
mirrors facing mirrors-
as the roots of the
Tree run as deep as soul itself
and he murmurs:

*The day you hear the cry of your firstborn child
is the day you discover the meaning of your life-

and nothing will ever, ever be the same.
mûre May 2012
I gave up on astrology
when you gave up on me.

       these stars will never align

doomed to a quickened heart
when every other year
you tell me I'm
beautiful.

you're a devastating black hole
I've wary watched the effortless pull of
galaxies into your guile
invisible webs gilded with your smile

infinite universal promises of nothing.

having fallen sick with the brush of your hand
(careless earth-shattering connection)
    
          he loves me... he loves me not
                 he loves me.... he loves me not

"your old friend"- how dare you?
at the origin- ever aliens!
you never obeyed the customs
when every look was all a kiss
and every touch a secret question

"we never were just friends," I muse-
fleeing on my gondola down the milky way
casting over my shoulder your cordial invitations to love you
from this millennium onward, you've changed the font but kept the paper
into the nebulous reality you've tried to gather
I don't. I won't. I would not rather.

let daisies decide.
leave me alone.
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