.
.
.
.
.
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Were I to say I did not care,
Were I to say
I could either handle you
Or lack of you
Were I to say
That sphere of fire
The one in my chest
That drips molten threads
That become coal-silk
In the cool outside of my heart
To be made into a cloth, a shammy
Was not the one I wear
In all weathers
Were I to say that I do not need
And that I will be okay
No matter what
Within you or without you
Were I to say
The soreness of this heat
Withers my peach skin
Oxidised in mid-bloom
And that it looks like
Some unrepentant fury
Searching for a vector
Or were I to say I did not love you
.
.
I would be lying
.
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