Hard to Hold

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The heart.

Her heart.

Brings me home.

Just as sure as, a door shuts.

 And, a bag gets unpacked.

Always, reminiscent…

True love, is aware of the facts.

I am removed and placed upon a former shelf.

Life, begins to…unpacks itself.

When, quagmires, await my vague footprints.

My love takes a restless hand.

And, combs away the begotten sand.

Save for an angel’s grace…

There would be no visit left undone.

I can wander aimlessly.

Seeking the unknown.

But my well ridden heart…

Is only whole when I am home.

 

 

Susceptible Sacrifice of Love

 

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And,

she said,

 

“There is a compromising position in love.

One in which there are conditions.

Sometimes,

it is a little rough around the edges.

It is unwilling…

It is relentless.”

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And,

with the blink of an amorous brown eye,

she was gone.

Fluid and fluorescent, as her encouraging words…

My passionate repair?

Built on this and that.

Disparaging acts to which my vulnerability tracks.

 

Thus,

my consciousness nudged with a quick start…

The agenda?

To grab, pull and tug,

at my heart.

The feeling of comfort has always come with a start.

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Hitherto, my lover has forever spoken with candor.

 

“Far better to be a susceptible sacrifice of love.

Than a sheltered spectator.”