Like shattered Hecatoncheires (Ode to Hymenaios [2])

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It was once so, said Aristophanes:

That two was one, and one was two.

Each broken just right,

to fit.

With one.


I never believed Artistophanes.

Until I lay,

against your chest.

And two was one, and one was two.

And all within,

And nothing without.


I never believed Arisophanes.

But,

for a moment,

I was.

Perfect.


Now I believe Aristophanes.

Two is one, and one is two.

We ache to be.

The universe,

in itself.


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