Arms slippery writhing waving reeds.
Breathless voices. Drowning sounds in auto-cars.
Through the night muffled moans.
Neon heartbeats of old corner bars.
Weary glasses
Drained by the juke’s blurry beat.
Dancers dance in darkened corners
With a hunger.
Seconds tick, tiny island of time
Trapped on dry ridges of rotting wood.
Passion breathes fire slowly dying
in whispers.
And afterbirth it just sighs and calls,
Was it worth the take and give?
Knowing from birth forward
It’s living to die, but dying to live.
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