I find a thrill in keeping it apart,
Risking it all for nothing
But a heartbeat rush.
I expect a little suffering,
Towards this morning's start.
Who would have it any other way?
(Then again my feet are made of clay
And I know the sin of inertia.)
Given it is a crime to want
What you cannot keep beyond tomorrow.
And its sorrows, they stand up front,
Then keep you from wanting more.
Dated 06June2009
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