Pure motives
don’t exist.
You’re a
handful and a mouthful.
Assuaging
your ambivalence
demands a sea
change
to which
forces far beyond
the ones you
think you rule
can catalytically
exert themselves
to fool you
into thinking you are fine.
And yet
sometimes
the thing created
can be kind –
indulgently
affectionately glad
through gain
and lack to be you:
voluptuously mad-in-love
to see
you seem to
want to live.
At these
times all the whispers
and penumbrae
in you
dance and open
up and give.
They’re full
of tender sighs.
Look at your
reflection:
you will see this in your eyes.
.
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