MY dearest love the night comes
and dreams beg for my entrance
into their sleep-web this night.
But before I go there are a few
words my heart demands of my soul.
That I wish my tongue would shape
from molten steel a word or two
— an anvil to slice through such
dimness that fails its path between
spirit and lips.
So tonight I can only utter simple
–crippled–words:
that I love you so…
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