At the tic of the same clock whose face I recognize always as yours,
Is when you stand on my chest,
But even then you leave in an instant
About-faced to me,
And I am left there on a cold floor
With a vacant chest,
Heartless,
Feeling more lonely when you're present
And entertaining heartbreak when you leave
How do I shatter the clockwise pattern,
Where eyes and lines of vision cross,
Where you always win, a stacked house,
Where I'm always fallacious to the earth
An arc descending from lofty views.
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