Taylor-made machines need no introduction

I’ve seen your face in the face of others
for 27 years now – half my life.
The amber tones hidden at the bottom of the lake,
with the shoes of a generation,
bubble up in features, in parts – eyes, smile, cheekbones –
reminding me you once lived, and you may yet still.
The cradled beauty of remembering
falls softly upon scattered anxieties,
peaceful protests upon the heart
of one who’s already given up.
We ran out of sacrifices – didn’t we? –
And devolve by necessity into loving instead.
Merrily, merrily dream on,
design a comeuppance
playing trivial triads before the Lord.
Mechanical biases predispose our predispositions
to forget we ever met,
or existed,
or tempted fate to tempt us to tempt fate.
These chords can do no wrong,
now that I know you’ve been here all along.

– September 19, 2024

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