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Time traveling I lost you.
Discordant, concentric skipping.
Sipping slowly I saw you.
Trapped in your plane of view.
Reaching out I missed you.
As though another held you.
These delta dreams mock me.
Free of waking reasoning.
The gravity of my pining.
Bending my course of travel.
Dilating, my heart unravels.
These coarse strands of us.
Our impossible paradox dust.
It was the past I adored.
The tomorrows I strove for.
Faring these lines of time.
You were only briefly mine.
Time traveling I lost you.

– His

7/26/17

on 6/1/17 vania kim wrote:

I breathe in your sweet scent.
A redolence Ive grown to covet.
Your steady heartbeat pumping a melodic consonance into my ear
as I rest quietly upon your chest.
Your lips pursed in enervation.
Eyelids fluttering from dreams amidst.
I gaze upon your slumber.
My fingertips delicately slipping in and out of your raven strands of hair in admiration.
Waiting for the morning sun to come, so I can see those beautiful orbs of terracotta awaken behind those
occluded eyes…
Good morning love

on 6/3/17 i replied:

If I took a little time –
selfishly for my own
To do what hearts like mine
are prone to do when every line
traces itself to you.

A bit of time to breathe –
suddenly on my own.
To know this breath of mine,
slow and sure, is a quantum
entangled with yours.

As if for the first time –
Achingly new. Deliberately unknown.
To brave this world of ours,
spinning callously amongst the stars,
together with you….

Good evening, Love.

Your chair across the dining
table sat empty.
A reminder that our hearts, like
my appetite, was arbitrary.
These days of ours, given to fancy,
cast over and through the net, like
currency virtualized for the sake of economy.

Saying I missed you would be faux pas.
In the sense that we all have forgotten art.
The old gods have fallen.
Something, in living today, we knew.
Our inbox, relentlessly, keeps calling.
The likes, and dislikes, we eschew.
That, in living, we embolden.

Surely, my kind is dying if not dead.
My pen, in strokes like recursive computing,
is extant in metaphor only.
When we lament our missed meetings
as if our attempts at trying, an atavus
rising – gave meaning to entwining.
Booting the need from which we were bred.

4/21/17

Your chair across the dining table sat empty. A reminder that, our hearts, like my appetite was arbitrary. These days of ours, given to fancy, cast over and through the net, like currency virtualized for the sake of economy. Saying I missed you would be faux pas. In the sense that we all have forgotten art. The old gods have fallen. Something, in living today, we knew. Our inbox, relentlessly, keeps calling. The likes, and dislikes, we eschew. That, in living, we embolden. Surely, my kind is dying if not dead. My pen, in strokes like recursive computing, is extant in metaphor only. When we lament our missed meetings as if our attempts at trying, an atavus rising – gave meaning to entwining. Booting the need from which we were bred. – sur le SE avec mon stylo parker

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sleep learning…. – on the SE

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l'habit ne fait pas le moine…. – sur le SE

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je compte les heures…. – sur le SE

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I tried to forget all about you.
Your steps traced on synaptic seams
pick stitched by what seems to be
memories of you.
It was neural yet static.
The cleft the same but a leap erratic
These hurdles in my head
a lonesome goal to you.
I am iota.
Struggling to cross the membrane
bound in regret of you.
To escape into inhibition
that I might, excited and frantic,
be pruned into insensate reflection of you.
I am through.
Charging in a flood of change
rushing away from you.
To find a state free and easy.
A place torpid – no longer pedantic.
I tried to forget all about you.

1/23/15

chimie du cerveau…. – sur le z1

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It was very likely trüe.
Being mad about you.
But you are just that.
And very likely more.
Those brazen days you and I
sculpted the sky from the
whispers between our lips.
These dreams of you and I
slipping free of the venus
bound in between your hips.
The fury of desire only
cooled by the embrace of
your thighs.
I was not mad at you.
Just that you confound me.
Enveloped in confusion.
As I find clarity in coming.
You are so very likely.
Fuck yoü.

3/15/14

probable…. – sur le z1

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We made things for one another.
Things of livelihood.
The bastion of our folly.
Our intentional fall.
Into that we always shunned.
Could I live with you?
A task my heart adores.
Would you be with me?
As though we rowed the shores.
Your every sign.
My listless rant.

Your ego on my door.
As before, my love for you
is no more…
Then why do I still engrave
every line with this?
This sullen force
that makes me pine.

3/24/14

improbable…. – sur le z1

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Bien que je l'ai encore…. – sur le nex6

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les accoutrements de voyage médiocre…… – sur le 5s

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enter the pigeon…… – sur le 5s

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………… jungle king

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Survival of the stainless…… – sur le 5s

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