bears the thousands of others that exist inside.
calling you myself,
replies to every proffer on be half.
Is it a dare
that is meant never to be undone?
Or is it a care
by that which concluded to give us just one?
You never seem to compromise
on the insipid reflection that meets the eyes.
What would I give
to fear and embrace with you
the sheds of feelings?
To tell you in the face,
that I live a life of you?
To see anything
and to want everything
and to yearn for more things still?