you may have forgotten what i never will

we used to call love the unfolding tomb
begotten; not made. 

the ephemeral illusion of cavalry

our total history of the dream as it turns to sand
is it that: I am You, and You are Nobody?

returning soul for the endlessness of the time-after “it”

whatever “it” is.

the place where you first descended, eons ago?
which is today, a rewind of the cinematic tape loop

conversation we were having in July and continuing in June

with new grass above our heads

and nobody to hold your hand

Because You are too far away.

Persephone scatters small white daisies
lust goes, and into dust
You may have forgotten what I never will.


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