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.