Postmarked in Hell;
this isolationism concedes, my heart beats,
and every facet of my monogamy
clings to you.

The rings, “we do.”

An open wound,
a tiger lily; a frost-covered psychopath.

Here we are,
in the midst
of dreamers,
we lie. Naked
and exposed to the sun.

And I fondle your genitals
with my tongue.

An arousal made of intellectualisms;
catharsis, and heat in a Winter’s kiss.

I’m hanging onto this,
with full attention to every detail;
my mind and body are on fire;

Welcoming you home.

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