Held tightly by the wrists or shoulders and shaken
Until sensibility returns, finds some orifice through which to enter.
Hell, I'm not asking you to read my mind,
Maybe just stop getting so lost between lines.
I'm lost between your eyes,
Each deserving more attention than I can offer without neglecting the other,
Each reflecting things about myself that I'd rather not be exposed to.
If you ever bump into your lost, wandering senses
On a city sidewalk or the inner workings of your mind,
Know that I found the answer quickly
And have been patiently awaiting understanding,
Awaiting reciprocity.
We were made for this.
-a.l. knox
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