as lengths of string belie,
and angels’ hymns
retreat into
the cavity of my desires.

Your open wound,

Wherein you keep
your heart.

I watch as its flesh

And mine,
perhaps more easily accessible,
perhaps closer to the surface of the skin,
Pluck the fruit of my tenacity,
when you are ready.

Until then,
I will watch you
as a distant star,

Or as a closer, heated thing;
based on your proximity to me.

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