an arctic brogue
delivers the thrash
to a fixed heart
subjective hope
reaches elsewhere
out of it’s seat
to hold empty near
time fiddles
while irksome thoughts flounce
in offbeat diversion
deep and hefty
no dispatching
the remembrance of your lips
the gentle timbre of your voice
your electric fingertips
leisurely fondling my skin
is there no end
to this longing?
~csr
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