Count of pages unknown, all in
books with a finite number
One to flip the page and find not
another
Hours on Earth, keep slipping
towards the sand
Proof the tide casts off and
subsides
Laps the water over a throat with
no more words to emote
To say, we only get so many
before the bin is full
The syllables ring like paradise
and perdition
Stranded in the division of what
I would say
If I was running low and knew
today
What comes of this love, these
mistakes undone
Not of this place for long, I
starve for faith
In any face and think to myself
If I had but so few minutes in my
allotment
I would run to you; I would find
your name like a beacon
Hold you close and say nothing
but the ending
Of what I have to give to this
world
Was given to you;
So in this I secretly smile so
bitter sweet the fall
I offer you me this pebble pond
of incomplete
All the moments I thought of you
when you were nowhere around
So many hours the only scent that
made me smile
Without nostrils the redolent pheromones
kept me while
We have been apart and if
This period to the sentence were to
come
I wish for you to know I am
thinking of you
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