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What it Was

This time last year
I was lost
until I found
you sleeping
in the caves of my heart.

What it was
was love
we changed into a tangram
whenever we touched.

Now, I’m alone, again–
looking into the mirror
and seeing myself as
triangles of imprisoned light,

heard and unseen
like fire dancing down a mountain.

What it was
was modified samba;
bombo on the and of two;
cascara of roaming fingertips

pulsing like lies.
Double time and then
you are gone
like the end of a song.

What it was
was me reading
to myself;
dreaming out loud;
mixing metaphors
like an alchemist

conjuring gold.

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