More than the collection of these seconds
More than the warm hiss of these words
More than the pure white of this paper
More than the ink I mark it with
More than the rhythm of this language
More than the alphabet I string
More than the language I steal them from
More than the fertility of my mind
More than the infinities of my imagination
More than this audacity
To call this drivel poetry
More than all the words I have ever read
More than the force that moves in me
Is the potential for ecstasy
Every time that you touch me…
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