Intermittance
Love is a candle burning at both ends.
We’re staring at colors not yet meant to be framed.
A prototype mixture of vermilion and cerulean,
raised to the power of negative sixteen in transmittance.
Deliverance delayed, waiting in the DLC.
Within the range of projected infamy,
unnamed protocols remain unrendered, once derailed,
absorbed by parameters etched into
the Everlasting Struggle.
The unyielding, plain color of pain.
RED. RED. RED. RED.
I wish I’d never seen you from so far away.
Doppler blue. Roentgen to Gray.
But I was only ten milliseconds astray.
How did phase become so overpowering?
Amaranth-fuchsia is said to delay even faith.
Love, in its highest sincerity,
is a candle that
burns efficiently
at both ends.
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