Inspired by James Joyce's, "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man"
i awoke finding
myself wandering
the narrow alleyways
of sleep, a deep darkness
like a moonless night
strung itself between
the trees as a clothes
line, and her parted lips,
that silent pressure
of desire descended
upon me. The warm rising
and falling of her chest
against mine, soothed
and allayed my confessions,
upon the alter of sin,
we find our true faces.
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