poetry critical

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the empty hands that I approach you with
are not meant to evoke guilty demons,
but to make a place for new time,
untouched by you and I on any wavelength
they are meant for the absence of light,
the naked skin of my palms in exchange for one more thing to call beautiful.
a quiet breath on the end of this old path,
reach out to me and make this silence real.

22 Mar 12

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