Sing to live,
drunk on footsteps who beat the heart
at its own game of pulse.
Tortured muscles only grow
while simplified lust tends to wane
brush the hair from your nose
the tickle tries to saunter down
to lips, who
writing grades upon graves.
The final stretch always leaves
legs feeling long
mind fully furnished
dressed to perfection
in inconsequential seeming.
But, to seem is to be, after time
and time, when it isn’t healing