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I support truth,
in that,
I confess I’d rather
be immortal
& forget everyone
I’ve ever met.
To poetry,
poor writing it,
rich in culture
To who I love,
I go beyond cherishing them,
I spoil them,
till till they’re exhausted.
A love is a love,
absurd & real,
phony, & fake.
For it’s worth,
it’s yearning,
regret, illumination
& painful.
aren't we all a little hesitant
to allow unexpected love
to enter
To a poem,
I can say whatever I want,
but often with regret,
for its something I don’t
say in a previous moment.
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