I mind the crack, the maw, the hole in the sock,
and the defect in the shoe. The pocket of gum
the tartar sticks to. Between grasp
and reach, between this shiny object
and that dull thing, between gravitas and gaudy
wing. Between segura cactus and salty sea.
Within me. Between my various internal densities,
the things I'm convinced of and the things I think.
And the things I think I ought
to believe. But don't believe, not truly. the gap
between what you want and what I want
you to want. Oh my love, my sweet: Please.
Go on, don't mind me.
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