as two loves will tear their future selves
and search for scraps of self-referential notes
on happiness and loneliness conflated in dusty backroom bookshelves
in three years across a citrus
morning landscape bounty
tumbles over another horizon's searing glow,
and three years see another version self in its day-to-day come-and-go.
pounding sidewalk cracks with wooden soles of tailored shoes,
ten years will see us without a care for
all the world of threes and twos.
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