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I cannot lay you in the short stiff beds of words --
Your willful fancy of a fragile spark
In your defensive litheness of the smile
Upon your still and silent flint of hidden force --
Your lissome and evasive lunge of hungry flame
To burn the paper with my wilting words
And leave the ash of doubts upon the stone
Of your intangible but stubborn pace ahead --
Your rock and fire – the ruthless magnet of your will,
Igniting tacit syllables of flame
To let me read the words which are inscribed in things --
Your fire and rock -- the warmth between the sun and moon --
Ineffable transition of your chase --
I can't lie in the words, I lay myself in you.
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