With

Fill these empty spaces
These interstitial echoes of wheres we’ve been.

Here is the crucible
Opening before you,
Incandescent.

See this sandpaper scar, this
winsome grin.

Here are my arms
Here my lips, parted
Here is my short-gasped breath

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About cenobyte

cenobyte is a writer and editor working in Saskatchewan, Canada.
This entry was posted in His Nibs, poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to With

  1. I THOUGHT ABOUT THE FUTURE ALLOT PLEASE TAKE IT WITH CARE

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