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I haven't washed my heart
since the day we touched accidentally.

You walked away
but I know you
danced inside
danced in the nude
a profile in heaven bare.
Wishing me and only me.

If I look deep I can still feel fingerprints.
I know you left them there like bread crumbs,
leading to your comfortable door.

See me, smitten through the transom in the rain,
unblinking night dream,
visualizing your taste and warmth.

If I'm at your back,
my heart may burst.
I may weep.
I may sink the steel.
I may kiss your hair.

Your shape in the hall,
tired and perfect,
to your unquiet door.

Light pouring over me,
it seems we all die a bit everyday;
but if you rest with me,
I will be your surrogate son
forever bound in your broken womb
cradled in your blood-rush symphonic dreams
and I'll never die enough,
if I'm a shadow,
you're a halo,
laughing and blind. 

Comments (1)

This comment was minimized by the moderator on the site

Poignant. The desire here is palpable. Good poem.

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