Tonight,
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
beats.

And mine,
perhaps more easily accessible,
perhaps closer to the surface of the skin,
beats.
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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