Poem 809








The only thing
that beats
flirting with Death
must be..
flirting with Life.

To hear the rhythm
of her heartbeat..
and still choose
to not yet
strike.

To feel
her impulse
of desire..
let it brew in me,
precipitating
into gentle
lover’s heat.

Much food
still left
for thought.
Much pussy
still for me
to eat.

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