the fall towards love was bright, quick.
it was your posture, shone in breadth.
that maturity, adjacent with – the wine in hand
confirms a justice to experience.
and I hold you suspended within the realm of a distant gaze.
because I want to meet you, and cry, and laugh.
as a tangible tangent,
we are the universe.
yet my source does yield,
knelt to your flux,
as a dumb curious love.
your – skin – is – the solace of my vision,
as the platonic pact – of lark
and breeze.
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