Forever is a syndrome
Of little packages of features
They say become reality-prone

Affection is the primal primer
That makes the infinity thread
Kindle at the right speed, slow in effacement
Time, a factorial; claustrophilia, the essence

And through the magnifying glass
Of trust, you tread on a keyhole holding
A telescopic lens to longevity, where eternity
Has all the hallmarks of an ocular disease

Ophthalmologists call it hyperopia.
Common folk call it love.


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