Remembering how we sweep
the old corners and nooks,
as lovers are supposed to,
with a few crumpled dust
seeping silently into gaps
we never thought existed.
The dust would slowly build
and thrive into the poison
we now breathe
and cough and digest.
We imagine, through misery,
how the simplest of dust
as small as a speck
could gather an army
and build its fortress.
We weep, as we remember,
how it broke our armor
and showed its chink.
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