At the curve her neck, I take
her pulse with my tongue, feel
the flutter of her heart.
Its bounding and rapid as is mine
in the palm of her hand.

I echo with a ragged breath.
Inhale, she takes me close
and exhale, she stills me
without release.

There should be resentment
but there isn't; I always want.
And she should hold remorse,
yet again, there isn't;
she gives me my more.

Passion is in the oxygen
and heat's in the blood.
I'm well contained without love,
without a beginning.
She's relentless knowing
there is no end.

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