pressed against my temple
is trying to tell me something,
perhaps.
Her razor soft warning
sliced into my longing
is worth a gun's chilled muzzle,
almost.
wrapped around her leaving
are fading into the ether,
a ghost.
The empty bottles
of Grey Goose and Effexor
are dancing on the ceiling
of my dreams.
full of monkeys and munitions
has warmed to its calling
in a white hot flash of brilliant blue.
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