poem: unwind from me the lies / of an age decaying in the beating, bruising dark

you’ll taste her through your skin / and know her, in a rush, in a moment –

in the way the tang of your own blood is familiar as an echo, she will come

in rushed breath, softened lungs exhaling the stuff of dreams before dreams were crushed by mortal mind and

be a miracle beneath you / a shifting mirage between you (and you)

her touch

deliverance from divinity.

– t. bennett ; @raggedhearts

 

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