Smitten.

You transmute pain into poetry.
I’ll whisper in your ear so you know its me.
I sleep for too long and there’s no time waking,
left to do the things I know I need to, who
else. Well, sheets draped make good shields.
Cue helplessness, welcomed with open arms,
invincibly vulnerable. A sigh to last months,
I feel that for once
I can breathe.

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