You See My Arms Open
I say this before all that is your world: a fortress-fiefdom in Sweden, blue bull tracks threading autumn, one who needs proofs to love, the puppet plays of Chikamatsu, stone breakers in weatherproof boots. You see, I become nothing but a gravitational collapse in time’s cracked rigging-shells, an ice crystal sleeping with uncertainty a kitchen god nestling in the void, or a river flowing into a nethermost wind until I am with you. So, you eater of ashes, fling those proofs aside and open your mind too long asleep with death, learn to breathe the way love sets free in...
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