the corners keep on spilling blood.
How fingers entwined in a sad creeper
stay lukewarm is the same story.
Detachment must be celebrated
in the night of thousand memories,
where forced into forgetting
each night repeats a night in itself.
Detachment transcends fatigue.
Its rhythm cuts hearts out of wood.
Sprinkling elixir in the noise of cutting,
love, lingering and sawdust.
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