I don’t even fucking know you, but I want to.
And even without knowing you, I know how to.
The imperfect difference in knowing, and going.
It lies there like a corpse that no one feels comfortable dressing.
You don’t even fucking know me, but you need to.
And even without knowing me, you will try to.
The obscure resemblance in needing, but leaving.
It burns down like a building with no functional smoke alarms.
a. duncan, 2018
White Center (Yellow, Pink and Lavender on Rose) by the brilliant Mark Rothko