A mediocre poem

A line of mercury separates us
What is it? A gulf, an abyss?
Is it her name, or his face?
Or the coming fork on the road?

We struggle, to find our feet
To bridge the gap, to meet
We meet, we part
In the chiaroscuro of our art

And when we part again,
Bearing shards of incomplete pain
I write mediocre poetry, hiding
From the mocking prose, brazen and bold

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