My breast contains the laughter
you lave left me, in trails of tears,

And I guess,
it isn’t sanity’s precondition
to lose my love;
but rather to keep hold
of this deeply buried treasure.

And to expend my soul
in a way that glorifies
our Creative Prehistory.

And I’ll bestow on you,
the warmth of fire in the chill of Winter.
show me your face,
[and don’t worry what I will think],
so I may heat the outline
of your features.

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