Offshoots set off down new tributaries
Which ought to be, as it ought to be
When love was split, and torn, that
The intensity at the core would
In turn undoubtedly diminish
But we know from the planet
That this is not, and never so
With each departing fragment
The sun centre becomes ever more
Ready to burn, ever more molten desire
I didn’t choose to talk of pain, and love together
Yet they are such suitable bedfellows, that I begin to
Spread outwards, follow on, mapping their direction
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