It is the tended earth

It is the tended earth of your solid being
that stabs and bites again into my own being

The needle of separation has no audacity among us;
before our presence it is quite numb & stupefied

Castrated and blunt, it is cast aside
a useless object

For it is our love that makes the moon sigh
and undulate monthly

And it is its undulation that ebbs and flows
the seas to crest and swell again

Continually and onward
towards the fading dawn

Towards the rising night

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