but at some point (5:51am, to be
exact) we balloon into heat -
still in something there is love
but love can be carnal
love can be the product of ancient making -
the dripping and writing, the same making
of beasts, though we are none.
such love is unpure, unfeeling,
laced with dire drippings of my boyhood
how softly i love to think our love
is no such thing
how truly i know that we
mean what we say as we love
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