Up again, old heart

Up again, old heart…
We’re driven on waves of intensity
folded through exotic familiarity
lulled-out into the deepest shallows of the real
where we’re torn apart and born again
and again with shores unseen
in countless abandoned moments:
so ordinary, so timeless, so mine, so yours
and yet, yet this moment now
belongs nowhere and to no one
not really, no, because
everything, eventually, ends.

Old souls, like ours, drown in beauty
while mothers shape our vision
and fathers fall
and friends listen
and lovers lay on their beds and talk with their hands
and the bedside light sets them in soft relief in a private world
where everything and nothing changes
while the playlist runs off
into something haunting.

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