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No Reservations.

I want to wine, dine, tear
into you. You know I do.
You’ve always known.

As you are well
aware that my reservations
aren’t what they used
to be due
to changing conditions,

inevitable and irreversibly rearranging
the environment and heightening
my already-rising awareness

as I float
along, ever-watching,
void of any true place, systematically
liberated by the callous
that has grown
throughout the years

increasingly embracing
the remaining impulse
(Pandora’s gift)
towards malice.

It has grown strong within,
though through the muzzles
and reigns
of empathy,
sadly,

it’s means
of expression
have become atrophied.

So let me in.
Not to stay.
Just to know

in my atheistic, 
Biblical sense.

To ruin
you through transient unity
with me before we go
our separate ways once again,

having furthered this virtually
insignificant story-arc
in the greater narrative.

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