Struggling with no vulnerability to vie for solitude, I pursued insight by your ‘grant’; for how do I hold you? That’s one for liberal arts. Secure oases cannot be considered in terms other than liberal; with great laughter impelling knowing, not knowing, comfortable indeterminacy.       
  
A given. Someday.  
  
Now no song of punishment without a reward, sorrow over death. 
Only your own half meets you halfway, how morning can blur promises   
while letting your adages cool.  
 
Is this a document or did you and I make it up?  
Frozen water on Mars is our smoking gun.   
 
Another question  
Of how should I hurt?  
Once and be done.