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Though the waves make me feel like it,

I am not alone.

There is a crew of people

in vessels just like mine. Silently moseying across

mere mosaic majestic water scapes. Kept away from who they yearn for

trying to make their apart mend.

The breadth between

him and her

them and you

it and us

is not measured by imperial ruler sticks, nor metric formulas.

Not through light

or years flinching,

no meters

or microns inching.

No feet, shoes, or hands

but by what makes us weak

not by what is there

but what is not

our heart,

beat.

Distance equals time minus recordings

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Distance equals time minus recordings

of not your beat

but the skip in-between,

until the skip skipped over the beat.

And it is not seen

as the gap

for it is the rhythm that creates

the rhyme, and with all its tact

creates the beat

in its emptiness,

sublime.

Bound to only one to ameliorate,

no other but the line of time.

no other but the line of time

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