the torn out pages of my weekend debrief

the deep scent of spice and

insomnia with just a hint

of lust

has stained my sheets

has coated my blankets with

a thick layer of heat

even their existence

intoxicatingly alluring

close proximity could tend to be

fatal by any standards,

the spots where her skin electrocuted mine

have drawn intricate tattoos

have branded me for the world to recognize,

the t-shirt once stuck

taut to my curves is full

of jaggedly torn holes in the places

she urgently pulled it tighter,

i have a new birthmark burning

on the side of my face where

she rested her gentle hand

it creeps around my neck

like her long fingers once

did, is it possible

to get the feeling of another's

lips implanted onto your own?