In my loneliness I love and I hate
And love will not console me
I always hate everything that does.
A hand is not the touch of another
Like a kiss that rivers a distance
Because we are born one at a time.
Make it beautiful because why else
Choose beauty because it is
And then lose it to no attention.
Towards the edge weakness grows
Where heat patterns are exchanged
It was only loss of contact that made the contact.
I choose to bring the leftovers home
I palm them in my nest of opposites
Ungrateful, they keep me awake.