Is it started by drawing out the bad words
And unspoken rage
From the heart that we had been forced
To swallow over the years?
Or is it by remembering
The innocence of two trembling hands
That clasped envying the moon
For the heart brightened more than
The star lit heavens?
Or by the lips that have yearned
For the afternoons of suffocation
The asthmatic breaths as we reach
Unimaginable depths, struggling for air
But we would have cared less,
Devouring each other to death,
Or is it by the eyes, that have revealed the
Incomprehensible phrases and fragmented
Value of love?
Tell me, how do we start again?
With seismic cries
Of volcanic breath that roared
Our hearts to crack open to the
Vulnerabilities of our sharp tongues
Ah, my love, my nyan,
Perhaps, we are too worn out for love
Too torn apart to start from…
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