My one, my only.
Were chaotic winds to scatter all surrounding;
were cacophonous blasts to shatter harmony;
would your leveling gaze remain
so open, so wide?
For one who wields Occam's razor,
is there any story left?
Love, it's all there is, you say.
That fondness -- just emotion.
But truly,
do you prefer me not?
Perhaps I could be anyone
and you, interchangeable.
We would go there, do that --
Just the facts ma'm.
Excitement? We're so over that.
Details, details,
smothering the truth.
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