I’ve never met you, but you’re love. I can’t speak because my head talks too much and my mouth won’t work and it knows: I’ll find some way to deconstruct you…you’re a flirt…stop being you. I’m disgusted with me, what will we talk about? I’ve had worse and probably better; talk is cheap…I could send you a letter. Would it be crimson? Dressing to impress disregarded without notice, something …nonetheless- I can’t smile because you allure; I can’t stop coughing because a commercial says it’s the cure. How do I explain that you’re presence is a present to my fiber? If I had you my mind says: Could you hide her? A drop of something, just one more stir; if I become less of me, does that mean I become more of her? I’d like to like you and merge our souls, but as far as I’m concerned it concerns me no more. I’ll place my heart three steps behind, lost thoughts written down, you are my figment, I’m my seeker…you’re a four letter feeling…I’ll never find.
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