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It used to be a choice
between words
and a love that works,
it’s always either
something that lasts forever
or something that lets me flow
so I reigned in incompleteness
and dipped my quills
in all the heartbreaks
I could find for myself

and I used to think
metaphors would get tired and run dry
soon after I’ve set foot on forever
and its gates have closed behind me,
confining me in a bliss
devoid of the antithesis,
the fundamental conflict of soul,
that makes great art possible

and I was ready

it was the price I was willing to pay
to have all the pieces back,
I’d relinquish the trappings of
language to your unscripted kisses
and starve the muse if it meant
more nights asleep in your arms
so I took to the skies
on poetry’s last wings,
unclasped all aesthetic devices from
my person and fed them to the wind

but back on the ground,
here, they come drifting back,
painting the world immortal
where details don’t perish on paper
until they are everywhere again
caught in the hinges of things
and entangled with the very fibers
of existence, both abstract and material

I read my old poems about you
looking for things I haven’t said,
and within each white space between lines
is a new Paradise undiscovered
a new romance, a new man to fall for
all of them you
all the words crowding around my fingers

this love is the place
where all poems find their meaning
and all eloquence begins

I have it all

“Urban Love” by photographer Bianca Valentim


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