when we stop loving each other
so intimately that your
body turns into a movie
of which the theatre
resides in my brain
& will have bought the
ticket too long ago
to remember the cost of coming here
will it be worse to
never see your face again
or to see your face but
not have the strength to look you in the eye
because our stare confirms
harsh bright reality when the
lights turn on after the end of
the last old love song that was
still playing in the disco of my mind
I skip,
then press repeat.
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