There is something.
There is something about him that I am not familiar with-
and of course,
he may.be gone.tomorrow-

If I could capture this moment
Fumbled, but with an honest hand

In my head it would melt
Become oil
A putrid fragrance

Too ashamed to wipe up
Too in awe to remove

I am as steady as a baked Dradle
Positioning word barriers to keep him
From escaping

Aw. retched victory

His laughter is sleepy hollow
He sees through my black
Dry throat I muster a swallow
Trying to remain intact

© Poetic Assasin

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