Shooting from the Hip

I must have
taken leave
senses of my
kisses spill into the dreamscape,
not escape exactly
it’s all too real
in the most abstract
way disembodied
spirit guide,
yet concrete if
such a material could be softly
sucked into your mouth,
licked by a tongue,
caressed by your hands,
pressed in your thighs,
welcomed to velvet oceans,
and still leave room
for a heartbeat
and an urn.

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