Two Poles

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the thing is, with you;
no matter how much I try to lie to myself
the lie can never be so beautiful
it captivates me from the truth or
too ugly it drives me away,
never again to find my way back, with you;
I’m always aware that

by your fingertips lie sterling chandeliers
by my feet skeletons trying to hitch a ride,
by your feet clouds prompting you forth
by my fingertips lie presumed fulfillment,

jump, jump so your forehead and the moon could be equals;
that air I breathed became one with nothing

the difference between us.

In Depth…

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This thing called love
knows many different languages,
I’ve learned only three
and cannot forget either;
they don’t understand one another
but how to confuse me
with not being related to one another…

I said hello, three times
what did I get?

Subdued

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what has taken form aside my need is longing
how they convey and drag me into their midst,
I can never lie about who I thought I’d be.

Yesterday for instance,
yesterday I schedule my thoughts
far at the mountain top
to see beyond father’s head
without help of a stool
and our cracked floors helping hand
but my longing won, when father came home
only after I went to sleep.