Beneath the shade of the quivering quill
Lays the engraved cracks, having meaning

For getting you back meant only forgetting
For giving you back meant only forgiving

Were the lines between us, the subtractions?
Or just a knot between words in a conjunction?

Half infinites like nothingness unless combined
It's the connecting lines, not the difference sign

What once was a burnt out stick is now a cigarette lit
The fire once burning, is now ashes to it's addict

Parallelism are the lines that never meet
Until it's the difference holding us in between

Fortieth day was when it came into being
Sixties in minutes, felt like years in twenties