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He brought me flowers.
A strange mix of peonies and
irises.
A mismatch of separate beauties
Who do not quite fit
Together.

They look tired.
Exposed of the raw temperatures
we keep in our
Hearts.
Yet they light up the room,
Making it feel like home.
Making it feel like

him. He made me a bouquet.
And little did I know that a strange set of flowers
Would turn out to be the
reflection of us:

A mismatch of separate beauties, who do not quite fit
Together.
And yet they light up the room.
The smell of burnt moments is
Haunting me.
The taste of ashes,
like a bittersweet friend,
Savoured in my tastebuds, mixed with
Chemotherapy

I used to be a young soul
Only fourteen winters had tested me.
But suddenly I had to discard the label of
"Cheerful and promising youth"
And replaced it with
"dying"

It's funny how life works out some times, and in this case -
How it didn't.
Are you just going to stand there and
Watch me peel this garlic, she asks.  
I shrug with a slight smile.  

Beer to my lips, and I catch her moving
The way a dancer does when she doesn't
Dance.

What is art?
This.
The juggling of seconds that contain

Something more than all of those
Without her.
We could be on a midsummer

Balcony in Venice, or
In a barley field in Provence, mid-
Kiss and laughing so soothingly the

Sun doesn't even feel like it takes.
Red skinned by sun-down, sipping
Local wine and asking ourselves

How the Hell life became so
Liveable. But she's in my kitchen, *not

Dancing across the worn down linoleum

With a freshly peeled piece of garlic in
Her hands, and I just found the key to
The treasure chest that contains

All the reasons I have to keep
Breathing instead of not
To.
The vibration of the tracks on the
tired railroad
Begging the heavy train for a vacation.
Bringing me closer. Taking me
Home.

The aches in my shoulders let go.
The warmth in my cheeks returns with such intensity
Making it impossible to hide the smile.

The familiar feeling from our first date,
The moment our eyes met and we both realized we had no longer any control of the outcome of this.
We had already lost.

Or the seconds,
the lifetime,
right before I demanded ownership of
your lips.

I'm on my way,
My love.
Soon our wait is over
And we will
Melt.
"Go on"
Shaking hands.
Unsteady heart.
Heavy breath.

You look at me as if you haven't eaten in years, and I am
The favorite dish you've savoured on the
tip of your Tongue.

I've had lovers before.
I've lost my breath with another man's name in my fading gasp.

But this is a different chapter.
No.
A different genre, written by gentle hands with an unsteady composure.

Birthmarks and fur
Fingernails and pearls of sweat dancing on the tip of your nose.
At last, I know what it feels like to be devoured.
Finally
I am
Naked.
What's mine is yours
What's yours is only for
You.

You let others see
On good days
What's your Possession.
What your manlessness wants to exclude from the presence of anyone else.

In the crowd you'll sit and taste
With a bittersweet dispair
that "She is mine".

-

Then why do I
Let her
Dance?
You are so proud
Of your defenses.

The strong fundament of constructions built to keep everyone out.

And you in.
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