Lost Twin Riddim

To rhyme:  to harmonize, not to clash;
to peace:  to coexist, not to clash.
When it’s hard, they call it tolerance.
To live, to each a task.

What you have, what you never had.
Happy, sad?  Sorry, had to ask.
Stay, go away, wait but pack a bag?
Stash cash, chase a piece of ass,
get mad cuz ya got distracted,
get straight, but whoops! it’s a crooked path;
only adds up with some funny math?

God damn, hon, that’s a pretty laugh
from a pretty mouth.
North, south; straight or roundabout route?
Expert or no idea?
Self-preservation or irrational fear?
Vision clear versus “More beer over here,”
because we’re here, because we’re here,
because we’re heeeere

Spending time saving nickels.
When awake right at midnight,
everything tickles.
Private eyes and spilled giggles;
public face like a straight razor.
Cling tight or make space?  Or
hide and yearn?  Stride into the light later?
Freeze?  Move?  Burn?

Follow guide inside?
Run bridled and reined?
Solo, free:  push glide on a quiet night.
Half moon.  Hurry up and slow ride.
Everything is all right, no pain—
just that feeling of a lost twin
I can’t shake again.

Secret greatest wish:  for sensation
of elation at the very end,
even if—well, when—it’s too soon.

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