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alizahaskal

cento/collage poem 1

Bring me your pain, love.

We are each other’s harvest.

We are the only two,

in the world,

awake.

So how come we can’t touch

when we hurt most?

The love which us doth bind

is the conjunction of the mind

and opposition of the stars.

Let me put it this way:

I’d tear a map and be right next to you.



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