What I love
I forget to love
and there is nothing
half-hearted either way
and there is something
remarkable about this
the manifestation
the celebration
the openness
of leaving or returning
that brings not only
change to one’s self
but to the lover
who remains devoted
with exuberance and restraint
on certain days
that seem humbler
than others
where in the dullness
of the world
there’s a great sleeping
desire to dream
with my head
hanging down
as if exiled from reality
as if conditioned
to wake and forget
or to ignore
such brief encounters
as having loved
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