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Back to a Familiar Cusp.

Here I dance
on the cusp
of this, ambivalence
swelling, denial
forfeiting.

Past is the past
for nothing ever lasts,
and so yes, this, too,
shall pass away
just to recur
on the path to infinity.

Look in my eyes again.
Dance like you did that night,
hold me down
and dig on in.

I miss it, I miss you.
I fucked up, but fuck you, too.
No more of me picking
at old wounds,
I must submit to solace
or sacrifice, commit, embrace
the likely too little, too late.

Damn my weakness.
Damn my incongruence.

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