Valentide

I am
anger and empathy,
homegrown apathy
once
happy
gone lucky.

An optomism that just
keeps on
trucking,

for only
sunshine gluttony will
ensure it

arrives on
schedule.

I am a manic sequence born out
of binary designs,
the panic that exists between a
zero and ones

to carve
neanderthal languages
in your
appetite for
sanguine eyes.

And you are
my thesaurus for
living in a forest of
line breaks,
warmth between
the trees
that opens up
the place, makes
it more like
home.

This poem is my
heart scrawled to
you on
a caveman’s wall,

just
symbols of
a drawl modern
people call
outgrown,

the broken
telephone of
love’s true ancestry
in museums as often
empty as they
are closed.

This limerick is my ode, a treasure trove of Morse code musings and feuding sentiment but

never
hell bent on translation, as they are
in your presence

and much
to my detriment, the
centuries will never

let you go.

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