Live
He turns me
inside-out; without knowing
his fingertips strum
chords my heart forgot
how to play.
I radiate quietly—
for fear of radiation poisoning,
I change the subject
focus on the rhythm;
Explosions on several planes
of existence
of reality.
Don’t bottle.
Bottle.
Contain. Maintain.
Give all my thoughts away.
Sarah Anne, March 15th, 2007
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