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sitting on the couch

gave this a lot of thought
(ok, a little bit):
are we
where we want to be,
or where
we’ve ended up be-
ing?
see, i know
we have a hist-or-y,
but maybe
know-ing there’s somewhere
we’d rather be would
bring us clari-ty.

scrunched up beside you,
only wanting an arm
or leg to be
warmed by
the skin
i miss through clothes
and sheets
and
space
and
the day;
but,
at night,
i know
you’ll
be still
and i can
hold on
or rest on
or be
rested up-on.

crazy
the amount
of time between
seeing you and
being me, who
i am when
only you’re around.

when
tick-ing-s
of a clock
become mile markers,
telling us
we’re growing further
’til we’re growing closer,
and i don’t know the difference
when kept so far for so long.
up-side-down, we’d
work above and below and
just reach out hands
to steady ourselves, but
we’re forced
in this gravity
to be distanced
differently.

so, you say
your day was rough,
mine was, too,
and we could eat
our breathing
to feed,
but
routines maintain
their grasp on us
and chores go by,
being left for
other days,
just as our
desires do,
but
then you look to
me
and i’m fallen
again, find-ing
no-thing to prop
myself on but
your gaze, smile,
bit-lip smile,
slight nod,
and i’m fallen
again, find-ing
no-thing to prop
myself on but
your gaze, smile,
bit-lip smile,
slight nod,
and i’m fallen
a-gain.

Love is
hope can be just as bad as anger

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