Poetry Blogs (meaningful relationships)

Out of focus there is nothing.

But he needles his way in.

And his warmth spreads,

and his essence flows and ebbs

in my mind and in my smile and in my bed.

He’s the cerebrospinal fluid

that floods my skull,

and all my cracks until I’m full.

Finally: a flash of his face and flesh;

vivid, quick, and then death.

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