WHO changed?

He asks himself this when she accuses him of changing.

He understood since long ago that change itself conveys no guarantees;

no sees nor unseens;

no come violently fine and together and high;

no beens indeeds

nor gone and done the blown in hand; the grand.

But if change can be viewed not as the detail one watches,

nor the sense of the observed,

nor the botched reality of you and me 

so badly, so irrevocably do,

but rather far more as the door to a being: a way of living in love

and allowing real [grow-

{th]-

‘e} thrives and relives of the wondro[us] 

sex and sun,

and the won and lost and costly dressed,

and then undressed so slow, as buttons flip 

and he cups her breast 

and she flips his tongue

and they’re nothings 

wrong, as two who become 

the one who’s become none, in a moment

of little death 

and then such stealthy life …

So this is why – goddamn and stuff – I want you 

as my wife, dear C!


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