It’s intangible and un-articulate-able

Let me try to butcher it anyway:

 

My heart slows to a sleeping beat, yet vibrates with

alertness.  I’m up for all newness, all the time, after decades of

dryness.  But find I respond to his answer to that, to my deep

past, that I’m trying to reacquaint myself with, and

reconcile with, and his echoes to it, with unleashed, ancient,

clenched up, sobs that swell into bubbles, and project with

inhuman ferocity, from my human body

 

Is this garbage?

I can’t tell anymore…

Moving on

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