empty, I feel the tug of loneliness
sinking in my belly like a great maw,
entreating me to
lower the edges of my defenses
so that my soul may be better engulfed
by its ravenous obsession;
cloaking me in my own disgust,
I allow the wave of loathing
into the cusp of my desires.
time slows,
and bitter envy strikes
from her cold fen.
© 2007 Strabo
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