we are wind ablaze with longings deep as desperation we expand become corona off the eclipse and your smile—at first shaky then glaring as death—hold us in place while the world stood still unaware just like consciousness we flared paper kites ecstatic in a storm cloud wild shameless with passion became sure of everything we knew which is really nothing and for the first time our bodies trauma-stained sore as pain lay only at our own mercy
About the Author
D. E. Benson is a literary arts enthusiast and critic.
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