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in this time line we are losing,
in another you are lost, in another
we are walking over roots in the sidewalk,
we are touching cold bottles to your thighs,
in another you have written me a letter,
or we are speaking through a void,

in another we are reading german in airports,
you hold sadness in your hands, in another
you hold my hand, I hold sadness in my hand.
i am singing to you, i am lying to you.

in another your skin is smooth, in another i
have a mouthful of scars, in another i have a
burning bowel you have an anger in you,
you’re a blonde, brunette, redhead. i am
on the bathroom floor you are on the phone.

in another we are trading poetry, Rilke and Windle,
Olds and Bukowski, Wigginton and Morgan. I am old
and you are young, you’ve out grown and I’m
still a goddamned child. You are south, in another
you are north again.

in another you are drawn to me,
in another we sleep and wake, and sleep
and wake, and sleep and wake. in another

there’s a house in the woods, there’s an ocean
not too far, there are clothes on the front porch,
water in the foot prints in the mud, opened books
on the table, There’s a time for me and you
and not another.

 
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