TO TOUCH THESE THINGS I GENTLY HOLD

FOUR blankets upon my skin
my feet horizontal off the ground
and still my balls ache like fire
like fire i’ve been away
from love too long /don’t make it a big deal\
Spectrophilia saves me at the end of the day
No sleep no dreams i’m attracted to ghosts
and the many images within all mirrors
and the love of a dead poet named Emily
Dickinson; come to me dear, don’t forget
me — i’m too sensitive And your body
is verse to the space inside the dying
heart of my bruised chest.
And only you could ever could ever
understand — its all within your prose;
to touch these things i gently hold.

:: 03-21-2019 ::