omen of things to come


I was born suddenly
with no reason
As a cross-over
of lust and love
By the time
it happened,
it makes sense

This was not art
It happened
No explanation required
Slowly it makes sense
from everything else
For love and lust
are the same fabric
Longing – repeating it self

I was born
making sense
The idea rose that it could have been different
Repeating love and lust,
it could be different

By the time
you read this
it seemed ambiguous
as it happens
words merely reflecting
what had happened


it is yours

to keep

and treasure 

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