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A slow breaking and mending
of blood and bone
fit for the poorest
of ivory souls.
Pour tomber, pour courir,
pour mourir; no less!

Mademoiselle
No one, to you,
do tell.
A dream,
perhaps a nightmare,
that died in your arms
much too long ago.


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Thursday, August 2, 2007
Yes, but
..being with you is
something else, entirely.

It is an explosion
of buried emotion,
a rebirth of heresies
-it is the thought of a revolution,
it is a sharp intake of breath,
a million sighs,
swallowed tears,
laughter,
silence

..it is a slow breaking
and mending
of blood and bone.

It is a million handpicked words
that miss the mark,
a thousand caresses that fail
to touch the soul;
or, at the very least,
a thousand that haven't
gone so far as to phase past
the tens of thousands you've left
on mine.

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