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My body, now that we will not be traveling together much longer, I begin to feel a new tenderness toward you, very raw and unfamiliar, like what I remember of love when I was young –
love that was so often
foolish in its objectives
but never in its choices, its intensities.
Too much demanded in advance,
too much that could not be promised –
My soul has been so fearful, so violent;
forgive its brutality.
As though it were that soul,
my hand moves over you cautiously,
not wishing to give offense
but eager, finally,
to achieve expression as substance:
it is not the earth
I will miss,
it is you I will miss.
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