The thing is
That even under a quilt
Of a coupling of months elapsed,
A shudder will still, with all persistence,
Grapple its way
To run a suggestive finger
Down my spine.
Wells, spin, company
Change quicker than the tides.
But I could be dead before I’m married.
No pleasantry can prove me wrong,
No insight cause an ebb,
You can scream in vain
But you won’t be heard above the haze inside my head.