You are content with knowing,
and not being known.
Concealing reverie,
like the focal horizon
behind dawn's first brightness.
As I,
with eyes,
although fixated,
am compelled patience.
and not knowing.
Wearing intimacies,
like blades of grass
under morning's dampness.
As you with ears,
although earnest,
find no joy in my repose,
save distance.
But when the sun rises, you
and I,
outstretching our expanses,
are relinquished
and laid bare,
and give pleasure.
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