An icy high.
A downhill slide.
He's home again in her.
Rip tide ever washing through
a soul that knew his shame.
Gone again. A spastic pain.
Feeling loss within the gain.
His hurt remains inside.
Wounds festering amid his seeds,
afloat in amniotic blends that
bleed his make-believe.
There's no relief.
She ought to leave.
He blocks her way again...

? Michaelette ?

Copyright© 2004 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .