We are each half jealous, half too worn to bother.
There is always you, and there is always another.
We pass like a light touch, undeciding, and yet
No other touch lives to standards you've set.
I've known you too long. How can familiar be exciting?
Yet just the smallest hint of you is doing wonders for my writing.
You are my small white whale, my three-pipe-problem.
You are every other problem's solution.
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