I like it when people beat me to the punch
I like it when people insist, and are right
I like it when people get the best of me
but you are the only one who does
I think my soul is short one rib
it got plucked, in the night before I was born,
and then slept in the ether a bit,
until it became fashioned
into what I knew
I had missed
- when I kissed you, I knew.
But I'd already known, in a way
seen as self - as deluding myself
but it's not self, it's you
who deludes me so sweet
with the thought that there's anything left
incomplete
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