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arbitrary hop-scotch (time)

See how easily we slip into the soft sweet language of lovers
tongues that tip-toe wrap before the full-on
of each word that comes so easily so hard…
miss we two I do me-you your sweet pea
              such things
they amaze and we do as we do
hold on until the next and the after
searching always the calendar arbitrarily yet still
the clock chimes the blessed hello-hours, the awful grey-goodbyes
the touch that refuses to yield to such partings.
None of that is sweet. Only sorrow there.
It is linear this.
I need I want to find always in my greed to spend
            more time
            with you
I am never as at peace as when we are alone

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