This Happens When Your Lover Leaves
Deep down—somewhere on an inner surface—
fear seeps from an earmarked,
loose vein.
Chunks from nightmares and drama traumas
glob inside a gaping, disconnected
cylinder flux.
Blood rains across silky innards,
refreshing this half-cadaver from possible
drought crops.
In this nook-and-cranny terrain
flows a bittersweet liquid with immense
commercial viability.
Molecular germs irrigate organs,
only to drown from busting clots that line
flesh corridors.
Few notice this tiny slip cut
that’s somewhere on an inner, deep-down surface,
flooding lust.
