Salim Gold

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Stern Measures

Absent you, nothing is worth anything.

Like Hannibal—or Sisyphus—I push

Toward bright peaks of dreams, and discover

Their capture—eked out—is Pyrrhic triumph.

As soon as I seize you—and set quaking

Our conquered, broke-back bed, the calendar

Proves resolute in its dissolution,

And rapidly we relinquish our prize—

Ourselves, until the bed’s a mirage,

And we are wisps—mere skeletons with hearts—

Or like Zombies, who crave Satisfaction,

To glut, glad, but whose guts compass zeroes.

But each breath is a looted treasury,

Save we save some to splurge on each merged kiss.

 

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