Our recycled conversations
Always seeming new.
We listen.
Allowing the words
To grasp our hearts.
We breathe.
Each other's presence
And welcome its sweet intoxication.
We see.
The desperate yearning
In our eyes.
We touch.
What thoughts
Our feeble hands can grasp.
We resist.
All that is
And all that can be.
We tire.
Of this juvenile game
Leaving us unsatisfied.
We stop.
We realize.
We succumb.
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