The Recovery

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.

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