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Being With You: A Poem

Being with you

felt nothing like home.

 

Being with you

was the opposite of home

was fleeing from home

running barefoot through the forest,

lips red with wine

or with blood.

 

Being with you

was to laugh at home

to laugh at cold,

discomfort,

to laugh at those who need

some sort of map

to find their way.

 

We did not waste the moon,

you and I.

 

It’s not the kind of thing

that lasts.

I’m in the midst of a cross-country move right now, so I haven’t had a plethora of time to devote to my writing. 

Hence, poetry!

I’m not nearly as comfortable with poetry as I am with, say, erotic short stories. Or literary short stories. Or, you know, novels about Loki. But when I do come up with a poem, I’ll post it here – let me know what you think!

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