Form: Epistle

It’s late, so late I daren’t look at the time
and I’m sitting on my bed
the TV flickering some mindless garbage
not that I notice while waiting for sleep
but I am too restless to rest
instead I watch ice float in my glass of water
melting into union with the clear water
conscious of nothing
sub-conscious thinking takes over
my pen entering my being as my blood becomes the ink
and I bleed again on to the paper
exposing my mind, body, and soul
to your eyes as you read
everything that is me bared before you
like a sacrifice to Athena
and I want you
not just in the heights of carnal desire
I want you to know everything that is me
and in that knowing never doubt my love
for I am ice and you are my water
always, all ways, your crazy-assed poet xxxx


2 thoughts on “Ice

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