(Below are the ending stanzas of a poem I wrote, it's titled but I don't want to give away too much so I left it out. I also left out the very last stanza because it's the most significant and intimate stanza of the poem and I'm not ready to share it, not sure I'll ever be. I've been in the most peculiar mood lately and instead of straining for something to write void of any passion, I figured this would be more than enough for now for those of you who have been bugging me to blog.)
heavy sheets, suffering an incapacity
to rise. (I had the overwhelming need
to taste you then.)
Omphalic falsities forgotten or
perhaps manipulated. We were an inexorable
fate, essential yet appealed.