we are odd bookends
of silence and voice,
of disdain and desire,
of being and nothingness,
but ask me anything
and it would be given
we end with a notion:
to be each other's
silence, desire, being,
becoming, metaphor, reality,
sweeping, beguiling, arresting
cradled and embraced only
by your hands that knew
my faults and held them.
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