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The Last Poem That I Wrote For You

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This isn't the last poem 
that I wrote for you.

Perhaps those words should stay caged.
a cipher sewn close to my core,
there were lines about that,
being faithful tethered antipodes,
and how I can still be loved 
but you gave to let go.

How you can touch me for a little while,
I never believed there was such a thing
as being drawn too close to another.

And I do not know how to
unlock from such intensity.

There were lines I'll never give away
from the last poem that I wrote for you,
some were about places poisoned,
places still glowing beyond any wound,
some hurt too much to even mention.

There were some that I can touch,
like humming our tune as you slept
even though music only pains me now.

No matter where I move,
your song breathes ahead of me,
too many chords and lyrics
flutter into a warm coda,
merge to become you.

And emboldened as if the fury
of a heart is more than enough
of a reason to remain here,
I have yet to let go.

This isn't the last poem 
that I wrote for you.

Perhaps those words need to stay hidden,
a cipher etched close to the core,
there were stanzas about that,
about being singed by a lightning flower
like a latticework of unique patterns made,
traced where only you know how to touch.

There were lines that told a story
far too personal to mention.

This was after lines about how grieving
can turn some places into a cold stone,
about what fills your beautiful world now,
what words capture you so effortlessly
and intensify the blazing desire 
that you ached for me to reach.

I can tell you about some specific lineations,  
about how emblems laced in passion
emboldened me as if the strobing core 
is more than enough of a reason 
to give all of myself to you.

How you know the specific tremor
breaking upon the surface of my words,
the insatiate touch still searching you out
long after the body's charges evaporate.

How when I told you that I made you into a poem,
you slowly kissed over and over and each time
our lips touch like a signature no one ever sees,
the carbon drafts are scattered everywhere
in a whirlwind as you consumed me,
pressed through me in ways I'll never enter you.

And I never believed there was such a thing
as being drawn too close to one another,
I never knew that I could need 
more than what you can give.

I just don't know how to
unlock from such intensity.

This isn't the last poem
that I wrote for you,
that one is too much
to mention here.

I have to hold on to that one.

Even if it's just for a little while.

Published 
Written by elliotlacey31
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