Poetry

Touched by an Angel, If the Angel Was Myself

Sweet lord, I dream
of it –
every day –
I dream of it –
I cannot get enough –
skin crawls like fire –
burning for immersion –
in a whole person –
god damn, fucking fire –
I just want
to feel it,
skin on my skin,
breath on my neck,
I just want –
I just want –
I just

want.

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