And Yet I Love It

Averring with impunity

that we are all a Unity

seems reckless in the case of you and me.

Our differences are legion: if you’re sea

then I am desert: I’m a plum

of a conundrum

and you’re quite as clear as glass.

One could bet one’s ass

our substances do not, at base, equate:

you evanesce to air; I bear the weight.

And yet throughout the solar or the lunar year,

I love it when you’re near.








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