You don’t do anything halfway.
You’re either aflame —
impassioned, burning, and in rapid motion —
or you’re frozen —
reserved, cold, unnervingly still.
Truly, you manage to be both:
frigid at the poles and boiling in the middle.
We reach, knowing the danger
of making contact.
But you’ve always been so much faster
than the rest of us,
it’s no wonder that your movement
is felt less than your stillness.
It’s the stillness that makes the rest of us feel
that something is amiss;
like the powerful current you’ve built up
has finally hit the dam.
I, for one, am quite glad
you’re no longer retrograde —
I enjoy the flow
much more than the ebb.


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