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(no subject)
 alone is a home
where you dare not set foot
but tend to see everything
and tend to the senses
you feel are out of place
yet perfectly aligned by your quiet choices
next to the bed you swear
bear the sheets you write your uncertainties
between the blurred lines
to touch the frayed edges with your toes
to see where you stand though you've fallen
to follow the wrinkles with the wrinkles of your white knuckles
to show your might has a path in delicacy
to blanket your solitude in a slow pull
to remind you that warmth is a capable feat
of bitten lips and hidden pains
of serpents coiled in our revealing exhales
free to be breathed by the next passing lung
and absorbed without the underlying understanding
that you've loved by sharing the air
with someone you've wanted without ever knowing
or known without ever wanting
whether pleasures or perversions
unfinished stories that sing desired unknowns


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