all along, i suspected but did not hope
that there was no one thing we shared,
Our passions such as they were
were duplicate striving away from the hard mirror
appearing identical, opposite-handed, sinistre.
i knew you were too like me to be true.
we cannot talk of Our love. as a thing.

We're monsters of our own longings that
we never set loose

for each creature, a certain amount of hope is allotted.
for infinite creatures, spread across the universe
and reproducing themselves, soft and hard
pulling it out of the ambient energy
like photosynthesis of the soul
for us, for my, my
anorexic hope stood faint, ugly
and held on to

This was the result of a raw-nerve nodeshell challenge by so-and-so.

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