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a strange love poem

Years go by fast
but seasons don't end

I've been running for years it feels like
to find places of beauty,
hoping to show you
for you
to find it
in the places where i find it

That you would legitimise your sense
your worthiness in appreciating
letting it come to you

Your language is
like soft silted mud
I will breathe through these minerals

And when the time becomes right
it comes it will come as warm rain
you would let it wash you
I would stop running

Maybe one day you won't talk the language
of discursive poetry
but of action still
and maybe one day action will no longer
require ground truth.

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