Timidly, I wore though my broken shoes,
a broken hue, a spoken truth evoked when you
moved here. Moved there. We wrote in clues
desperate for something more than votive cues.
I wanted to tell you I dreamt of another place.
Hammocks. Sandlewood drifting on a summer day.
Fingers interlocking. Touch a face. Once astray,
you're better off now. Stuffed away in cuffs and chains.
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I'm just swinging swords strictly based on keyboards, unbalanced like elephants and ants on seesaws.
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