dear paul

all we are is words on paper

dreams in slumber and dreams in daylight

the chances that you could also be writing me

from across the globe

are thin as this here paper


why do i write to you?

why does your voice follow me in my dreams?

last night i dreamt of us conversing for hours

your creaky voice is burned into my minds ear

it squeaks to me in rapid eye movement murmurs

why do i write to you?


if there is power in attraction

in this universe

then my naive ego believes i could will you to me

like demanding the tide come

i could pull you upon my shore

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once your hands made soft clay out of the muscles of my neck the ancient place where i hold ten-year tension muddy muscles melt under your hands like rain who taught you that kind of compassion? and h

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