skip beat star

I’d like to explain how you make

me 

acquiesce,

put

the rise of my chest at

sudden ease.

But it would be like 

explaining to 

inanimates how 

it 

feels to

feed on 

oxygen, 

bite the meat of 

broken promises that 

air is always

clean. 

I’d like to abstain, 

rather, 

defer to silence on 

this matter, 

plead the Fifth 

and maintain 

myth.

There’s a therapy 

to this,

a priveleged 

breeze on

plus forty days.

We get to

hear the stars’

heart skipping beats and

baby, that ain’t 

so universal

yet we have the unaccounted span of time 

space traversal tales in 

fashionable decline

and 

my,

I’d never want to regret such 

conversations.

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