Your energy is wasted contorting your face to disapprove my will;
We know our souls better. When I saw the gray sky in November
And you walked mid-afternoon toward a nearby strip mall,
My mind met your sympathy, ripping out and desecrating the Cosmos.
In night's convenient cover you passed a portal to me,
As if I expected the gesture. Like that you could still say to me
"No, these are not equal, unfortunately, XXXXXX."
Growing apart only feeds a fierce will to find a TRUE CAUSE,
Which tonight I see beneath your disapproving contortions,
Informing my madness that you want this indelicate embrace.