your mortar; my stand
you are impossible in all your convex concave undulating perfectness and I cannot know you or name you enough to be your subordinate or superior
you just are
and I must contain the whole word "YOU"
in my bowing mouth
as if water
were holding your perfection
and mortar shaping your impression
and my room of resistance falling down to meet you
at the border of our two illusions
so
there
is only
what is left
I Love You
Your Beloved
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