Perhaps, I need you.
Or perhaps, the though of you suffices.
Your brutal charismatic leverage holds my drunken soul.
Without your tyrannical self-loathing, you're better.
Consumed. Mine.
And anxiously awaiting another appeal, you lock my arms behind my back.
Tight. Trapped.
The others - they tasted wonderful.
But you never tasted better.
Release me from your grasp.
But I have you,
forever in my talons.
Monday, July 9, 2012
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