to carry the message that only
my hands spider iced with veins
could deliver hot as your lips
which spark coals of yellows
and ruby reds when touched
by my fingertips which were
just begging to release the
valuable information that I
trusted you would need while
I was away but no I put faith
in Tomorrow which ultimately
never came but in a mahogany
casket engraved with the truly
touching epitaph “here lies
a messenger whose fate was
writ out of thin air” which
was my own fault for never
giving it solid enough ground
to walk on my mistake for
never laying the bricks early
enough in the morning instead
waiting until all the birds had
finished their songs and all the
leaves of the trees had gone
through their too-human changes
before taking the message out
of the pocket of Tomorrow and
taking up arms to tell you myself
that you are it you are my one
that the sentence ends with you
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