In intimate embrace,
upon the floor beside the chair,
the discard of delay,
rootless,
grows no more.
Here, entangled,
abandoned time
is left behind in shadows.
Here, the separation signifies
a possibility that other strands
might intermingle
in gregarious grasp;
the shaking of our hands.
Emotions will tumble,
like this shed hair,
as the intercourse of time
begins its journey again.
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