We are not impure

though impure thoughts

seep into you,

drip into me,

for we are not

without lust, not

without touch, not

without mind.


We cut ourselves

with each other’s


for want

of release…



but we don’t quite

bleed enough.

We don’t quite

breathe enough,

while our lungs

are filled

with each other’s



We are spirits

covered in water.

We are waiters.

We are waders.

We are waiting,

you and I,

to cough up

our last breaths,

to swallow

each other’s blood

while we wait

for release.


**From Color in the Dark. Get your copy here.**



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