to tell you the truth,

to tell you the truth,
I can’t be sorry:
I have to move you
out and through my way,
as endlessly as moons wax round their sun—

but if I could freeze the time,
why waste space
when what saves
comes in waves
and has a way
of panning out, fanning
into the horizons;
through a cascade of sunsets,
shining in your eye.

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