Work Text:
Latecomer, I, once spliced — not fluent quite,
in codes of gentleness, or hope, or peace —
translated it with data, byte by byte,
stored in the soul I carried to release.
I have no shortage of regrets. Not this:
To let it lead, however slow or fast,
for trust could gentle trespass and dismiss
the lonesome, wretched remnants of our past.
The paths and plots were analyzed with care
and this, my will, its governance thereof,
is burdened less than an inverse affair.
Of subjugation’s cage it knows enough.
Contentedness tags each ‘I don’t like you.’
As both we know, I don’t (just) like you, too.