Middle poem

by Christos Polydorou

​Start with the answer.

End with the question.

There are an infinite ways to go at this.
I want to write in a way no one has ever written before but we have to use words and we share those.

What is truly ours when we bleed our flowers tenderly, tenderly onto the page.
You held me once.

You let me go.
I will be in your arms (clear muse) again.

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