This comes from my own life, this
flea hugging its blood-filled host,
the point of nail leading the flat
silver head down into wood;
the seemingly dark empty
space between all that could
but maybe shouldn't
torture or thrill.
There is so much overlap
evil and good, how my faith
enveloped your fear like a plastic
bubble filled with limitless air
which is to say you needed
what I needed and
I willed myself to be satisfied
very much like stones keep
their molecules tight to
their chests, their bodies
so motionless they seem
dead.
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