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Twenty-five poems later
it’s not yet over
the concept of you
is growing bigger by the day
and you occupy me
almost to the point
that I can’t breathe

and you are so far away

I want to show you
I know how to love deeply
but I also have to show myself
my soul is equal to yours
and you will not overwhelm me
I will not shrink back
from your fire
I will match it with my own fire
nor will I tremble in your presence
I don’t need an entrance
I will arrive in your arms
rampant and golden

lay me down
write a poem on my body
make it a long poem
one that takes all night to write

by the way
I want Spanish omelet for breakfast
—egg whites only—
and a pot of coffee
as black as ink

* * *

Now the only time
I could be at home in my skin
is when I’m writing about you.

I hope it never ends
I hope it never ends
I hope it never ends

.


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