Her Thoughts on Love - Mark Flanigan
it was everything everything-else
should be,
but rarely is:
very real.
a love. founded
on assumption. once doubted
diseased—now—a corpse on display
the peering in of
yielding
little more than memory
the breathing into
impotent to inspire
belief.
more than words on paper
awaiting the rebirth of breath
we were body, we were form
the size of which
eclipses me,
my sight,
and darkens the promise—in the distance—
of anything more perfect.
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