I fell, giving the arm, at least one million stairs
and now that you're not there is a vacuum at each step.
Even so it was about our long journey.
My hard still, no more, I need
connections, reservations,
traps, the scorn of those who believe
that reality is what you see
I dropped millions of stairs giving arm-face with perhaps not because it sees more.
With you I've got because I knew both of us
the only real eyes, though so blurred,
were yours.
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