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the endlessness of humanity
her outstretched hands calling;
the voice of want, love, and wretched sorrow
forever diabolical and draped in naïveté
such is the plight of her dispossession
but my heart is in your palm
like the yogi in a state of ascension,

the tremors of a disturbed heart
that lies awake when sleeping
in whose terror does it seek freedom
this endlessness of existence
when it cannot fathom the color of this season
such is the music of this hour
wayward and lost like a beautiful poem,

for words are not what they mean to be
the intent arises from a deeper need
like that of hunger when the body pleads
its strength to decipher a logic of an ever gnawing
cry, behold her consummation – the hour of love
when the lover and the beloved unites.

 

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