my skin cool silver fish scales 
 my brain bursting, harboured in my skull 
 They say beauty fades 
  But I was an archaeologist 
  unearthing more than the relics of Saints 
 I heard a hint of story left untold 
  a remnant of the collected figurines 
 that would speak  
  that would laugh 
that would cry 
 that would be mad 
  I am the immortal man 
  daring and daft 
 the most permeable 
I’d wait for you
  with frankincense and myrrh 
I’d follow a falling star for you 
  even if it was ashes in the atmosphere 
 And soon the calendars flip to their ends 
  and are discarded into trash cans
 but no matter  how many calendars you use 
 I will be always there immobile 
 gravitating towards you 
 caught in your pull 
   though you may drift 
    and fall away from me 
    I will always want to show 
   blue skies, fair weather 
   safe harbors, baby’s breath 
   Even if you are across the world 
   I wonder if you’d give me a thought 
   I would give you a hundred pennies for your thoughts 
  if naught for my cowardice 
   because of my mistakes  
  When love is given 
   must it not be received? 
  or was it love at all? 
  or feckless sentiment?
  Is love when you know when to let go? 
  and when to grasp and hold? 
  when does love become avarice? 
  when a person kills their lover fleeing to another?  
 so we are archaeologists who value these vintages 
  and hold onto some perennial love 
 resharpened and refashioned, a new born chick hatching 
 perpetual, persistent, relentless, ceaseless 
 This is who I am 
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