deep in ticker’s flesh a secret shelf stays
stuffed with sweet rhythms of you. Take a look
at me now inside my fantasies, way
back by stacked columns of poetry books
where reality’s embossed on every
page and I feel you touch me in pouring
rain. I bathe my hairy groin with very
warm salt water, feel my thigh’s neighboring
scar etched with your initials. You came and
you gave without taking, yet my body’s
secret shaking kept me hiding behind
caring whispers I felt were honest. This
glazed fog forming over my window pane
paints lightning surreal, flames your eyes again.
Roger Armbrust
November 15,
2012
