I know it seems impossible right now
to stand up and get out, when movement strains
'gainst this easy inertia in our veins
like thickened oil. Why try, and further, how?
This dull impossibility of change
has sunk our feet like boulders into clay
down through this present life. Late in the day,
the very thought of alteration's strange.
But listen: there's a thrumming in your breast
I'll nurture with my breathing like a flame
through our joined lips--till everything that's tame
in you is wild, flown free to lives unguessed.
Then everything you want is what you'll be.
It's not impossible, my love. You'll see.
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