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The border
Our
difficult nature, loving at a distance.
If it draws too near,
we may come to loose our desire.
The farther it seems the more we covet.
Love to find.
Love to get close.
Hard to approach.
Loose it, miss it, find it again.
While repeating its ruthless routine,
Needless delusion falls off,
We notice the roof rack carries nothing.
Back and forth from city side to mountain side,
Our dilapidated Ford will find
The silky desolate hills of upstate and
Frosted dunghill of downtown.
Lust and us.
Perplexity and us.
Natural morals and unnatural morals.
Will our distance be shortened by naïve repetition?
But if shortened, will it recede off into the yonder.
Thatfs why we may pretend to approach with guile.
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