[37] Synchronizing, Allison Whittenberg

I’m indigent, I think
And you are poignant
In my heart, like an instrument
Are you there to pierce
Or to mend?
Doppelganger emotions
With their fervid, florid intentions
Clutching happiness by its throat
How does the theorem add?
One plus one.
So simple to apprehend, yet hard to apprehend
I never know if I’m fighting
For peace or merely reposing
Between battles
What did Wilde say
Is it who in love is poor or
whoever has love is rich?
There is a difference.

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