Closed Book
I don't know why I love you,
only that the question sits with me
like a bear at the edge of its den,
stubbornly still,
yet so ready to claw the answer
into tiny bite sized clues
if it dare meanders near
Maybe love prefers me blind
and ignorant and bound to its side
in the cold hibernation
of all it shan't dream
I wouldn't know,
I've grown comfortable
in this grey, dank cavern
pondering the absurdity of love
in all its awful ambiguity
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