Let me do this, now:
I’ll drag you down there,
down, down, where you will
feel lonelier than I,
and less delicate, less alive, somehow,
jealous of my moving body,
in the lights, itself a shifting light.
See, love, this is what you missed. What you
will miss, are missing out on -
it’s passing, passing
the way I would hold on to you,
touch your shoulder lightly,
if you’d let me -
I’d be wild and innocent,
if you’d let me, love -
but ah, you know yourself well,
and the same power that burned me alive
is but an annoyance,
a mild unpleasantness
that you dissolve immediately
through careful analysis and a stream of descriptive words.
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