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(A fragment of something bigger I was working through one Friday night)

Wanting and dreaming of wresting love back
from fate and physics and fury and history and pain,

Futuristorical histrionically
interintrinsicalligorically imperative…

This is what your love was to me.
This is the me that is no more without you.
Unmoored in mourning black & white-knuckling
sober divorcee’s blue, red and grey.
In twilight’s every minute of the day…
Since you went and you
Moved yourself away your embrace denied…
The mourning after the day you voice-mailed me your love died,
My one and only foolish-impulsive ex-bride.

Why do I choose to continue
Enacting my ruminatin’ magisterbations anon and on again?
Another word jazz jelly tonight
Over matrimonially mutual delusional decisions made,
Of impulsively romantic adventure aventured
By two overgrown children one summer.

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