I hope you read this tonight but I don't
hope you read this tonight because
I will get tangled back up
in your hair, and I have been there
and it is painful (and sweet)
and you will inhabit me again
and I am not ready to host
you, and the things you are not ready
to give me. I would say I
understand, but
I don't. But
I will love you either way
until you cut my strings and I
fall. (And look at me now,
wound around in you just
like I said I didn't want to be.)
Forgive my broken arms
and I will cure your broken
eyes. We could mend
each other, you know.
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