Words for us remain, like: bliss, kiss, missed, & I insist you are all the snake & witch stories I have ever heard or told. And, yet, where I am alive with a worse thirst then sometimes anxiety itself is when your single meaning-me- again-look roils out from those cauldron dark eyes while your sweet lips deny love with more heat than a couch on fire with love's own passion. And all this exceeding hell brought on by heaven knows where this can go from, for Christ's sake, here. With jagged lightening blistering our sky's blue limit under so much thunder I can even hear your damn love thinking of me still.
