They say that life imitates art,

If that’s true, then maybe at the start

I should have hung you against a wall in the gallery

Rather than carrying you in a cameo around with me.

For each reaction, there is an equal and opposite overreaction,

Even science can’t explain the way in which we twin,

No highlighter, italics, bold – the lines we draw are thin.

Shadow to shadow, light to light,

You are my morning and I am your night,

In strings of words, we find our meanings and our sense,

And yet, there is no meaning, no evidence

Or anything more profound than the breathing out of time,

One word after another, line after line.


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