poetry critical

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Inches separate myself as I am,
So much myself that I get lost inside it,
From me as someone you've touched
But more importantly someone that reached for you first.
It would appear easy to bridge gaps so small,
But infinities span the length between
Your hands and my face,
Lips parted and quickly bitten back into place.
We've made due with half-truths,
Easy lies told on the edge between winter and something colder,
Kept our maybes safe in the corners of our eyes,
And maybe they're better off there
But some certainty would be nice.

14 Jan 13

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