I wish I knew you better than I do
That in your thoughts there was no mystery
Defiant in impenetrability,
Persistently concealed out of my view.
I think some things but don't know if they're true
And wonder almost inconsolably.
From this arises an internally
Consistent hope to seize the heart of you.
But if I did, what fun would there be left?
What joy in things already understood?
Would I not be eternally bereft
Of any awe, and therefore all that's good?
That too is heresy; once you are known
Love will sprout from the seeds knowledge has sown.
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