Muse, muse, muse again and confuse.
Flames of desire tower high
and only a mist to quench.
Is the occassional whetting of the tongue worth
the burn ever-present?
some moments here and there.
A brain -racing,-folding,-twisting, -turning.
that defines and stops time.
Oh damn, God damn
What can I do next?
To restore bladness of normalcy?
Then to plunge into its depth.
and to fret over again!!!
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