459.

All slight reactions,
curled toes and soft shivers, gives
me a pleasure back.

458.

A month, born into
sunsets, begins here. Each day
etched in surrender.

457.

I yearn to mold space
and words direction, cast to
house sublimation.

456.

I want to spread you
out and map each scar into
a shared memory.

455.

Absolution is
made moot in the face of an
absented response.

454.

The frisson, culled from
knowledge of what will follow,
here leaves a missing.

453.

An ache suffuses,
throbbing hunger out from the
mouth between my thighs.