Yet I don't see much more than her existence as a gimmick
Not like we don't connect, we very well do
Like a cup and saucer, or like table and chairs
Neither in need of other, better together though
She brought me a tiny Agave bush, am in an Indian humid town
I have a balcony, not making it into a flower bed for lack of a garden
Gardens are harrowing, they bring mosquitoes and bad memories
Like being bitten, scratching, then that malarial bedridden episode
I don't need that forgotten shard, we are not better together
She brushes her thigh against mine, sitting close by
Not like we haven't had a little too much of sex already, past
Sex is terrible when it is this crazy, we crave for more
Like the sunflower, looking at the sun traverse the day
I don't have a metaphor, it will just hurt all together
She walks away, forgetting I am holding her thong
Not like she isn't sober, mostly bipolar not poly amorous
Bipolar like stupidity is painful, only others feel it's effects
Like a bird spike, it does away with the good along the bad
I don't like this bifurcation, so we love and keep making love
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