Friday, June 26, 2015

Living with a Condition

No matter 
how deep the breath, 
I can’t quite 
feel the comfort. 
Always need to get closer. 
Thought I’d marry a poet. 
Together, romping 
in between the sheets 
with poetry—forever after. 
But couldn’t find 
my perfectly matched 
poetic God. 
Such is my problem 
with love. Therefore, 
I reach; I cling; 
I let go. 

Some say a shallow 
breathing pattern 
one can actually hear. 
It’s actually not bad 
you see, when you live 
with a condition. 
Trees grow around it, 
leaving the patch 
of you in the center. 

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