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Buried deep waiting for discovery…

occasionally unearthed and wanted.

but like the fancy of a small child

repeatedly after use discarded.

A stone unturned in a field of rubble.

Waiting for the day that my archaeologist

opens the tomb.

reverently, delicately, desperately

unroll my history like the greatest canvas.

A treasure that one must have.

 

paint my contours with fingers, eyes, and lips.

Praise and celebrate the imperfections that show the signs of

a life of perseverance, laughter, abuse, and healing.

A life well lived, thoroughly enjoyed, yet unfinished.

Take and give passion in equal measure

and become our own alters.

One in the other can give and receive redemption

giving answers and more questions equally.

Roaming the Earth side by side

and finally feeling true appreciation.

Until this time, wait.

The occasional perusal is bothersome

like people, love, and sex are equal to the

second hand trinkets found at a flea market.

Hope is stronger than the toughest braid of an Amazon’s rope.

patiently waiting for the excavation of one who knows my true worth.

 

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