“These fragile bodies of touch and taste,
this fragrant skin,
this hair like lace.
Spirits open to the thrust of grace,
never a breath you can afford to waste.”

by me

Touch that lingers, wavers, turns to
dust and consequence.
I reach to turn back the clock,
rapid rewind,
earmarking pages I’ll inevitably

Sense recall recoils,
pierces my skin,
the bullet still resides just underneath,
too deep to move,
without bleeding

I remember you well,
in distorted memories,
in tip of my tongue taste,
in a black and white decline.

You live in the dissonance,
in drops of desert rain,
in the drought that never ends
And I keep you,
feed you,
tend to your scars.

As a passenger
a tenant of love
of loss
of disillusion.

Lovers in a Dangerous Time :: Barenaked Ladies

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