221.

The marks of her chains
hold you, an indelible
embrace's hostage.

220.

Only voodoo can
do justice to the union
of all held within.

219.

Crawling along the
meaning of a slow heartbeat,
stuttering under

the weight of its own
anchor. Where shovels have dug
so deep, just psalms work.

218.

Each flutter of tongue,
making me beg for either
salvation or scars.

217.

I tend to run from
the seduction of how you
speak soft in razors.

216.

Those moments flew like
they had wings when the seconds
counted them as ticked.

215.

As the shimmering
excuse for night showed that your
eyes were etched stones from

a cemetery,
tomorrow's voodoo couldn't
retrieve time marked from.

214.

Blinded in viewing,
seen like a lonely man walk-
-ing backwards with clocks

drawn on his face, that
canvassed my heart. But what was
missed time's shadow.

213.

Softly stroking the
underside of intentions
until focus met

your feature, shining
like stars against the tar black
surface of this dank,

obsidian piece
of diseased history, and
I was diverted.

212.

It slunk along the
glass with tentacles and grasped
care like a small leech.

211.

Toward its belly,
meaning spilled out like a song,
dripped in sludgy oil.

210.

Coming up from the
depths of a soul, shaking me
in hypnotized steps.

209.

Characterized by
the dulcet waiting, a hymn,
reverberating.

208.

Where this framework of
inching events began to
again feel like love.