Who hurt the other first?
When did we first
see that impasse?
Unfathomable chasms
between you, me,
desire, loneliness;
My need to be held
and your language
A sweetness of being
And a cynicism of heart
I knew in the moment you held me
That dust thou art is but a belief;
Like love, romance and life itself
Dust doesn't return to
where it first came from.
But hurt, this hurt?
Whoever hurt the other first,
Does hurt return to where it
first came from?
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