Man, the looter of hearts


My heart beats a solemn stream of lonely,
poorly tuned to the rhythm that love should make
and would were it not lost in the transition of fervor,
the calculated movements of minds trapped by recognition
of the familiar scattered flecks of fear in our eyes
as our bodies collide, minds confide-
the most intimate of secrets revealed.
These actions do not a foundation make
for such solid transactions to lay at ease in what has transpired
but through time thought you might reconsider your stance,
longing by space at remembrance of what distance had lost
or strengthened in confidence acquired by the developing trust.
How tragic we be, though not star-crossed
to be cropped in this picture so particularly posh
to let one love quite madly for all that he has lost
and the other recoil from her actions of lust.

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