Is it the master of your heart?
That ageless presence, illuminated
in the thickness of your blood/heartbeat?
Or is it for the jester?
the one who sees only the comedy,
whether in tragedy or transcendence or
sometime-equilibrium?
Or is it for the fool?
The one who hopes and sighs
and heaves and tries?
The one who squeezes eyes tight,
wishing on starts, catching a hint
of their light?
Tell me, who is it?
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