Damon Ferrell Marbut

Issue #
February 28, 2015

My Original Blueprint

I wanted to hang those fiercely earned scars
on my amnesia wall the year I heard your name.
I wanted that life gone.
Luckily I began ignoring invitations,
opting for the drug of us crossing the world
without leaving my bed,
that white-roomed nest, the entire room a lair,
so bright we covered our bodies
with the guarantee of our bodies,

and in the new shadow
you dared my entrance,
your half-hitch knot to my hook, reaching up
toward the ground. I wanted to go out of you,
with you, and grow old. I wanted to end my dictatorship
and be bashful behind your shoulder,
to fall unsheathed into unsubtle night,
the anesthetic of love, reversed,
and fascination, restored,
in the shiny soft pulp behind our skins,
hide-and-go-seeking past the bone cage of our hearts.

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