the process

I was hot and bothered

The heat from your words poured into my fingertips

And I found myself sitting on the floor, begging for words to reach you,

To reach and to find release

Your word savored

I skimmed them this time, so I would be sure it was your skin in my hand, your black sturdy spine between my fingertips,

How I could drink you for days, my eyes forever thirsty

I absorb you into me

I come pouring, raging, on fire..

Tonight we will burn these sheets into scriptures,

scriptures of truth..

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