Phosphenes

Does it make sense To own one's desires And hold you in My arms, closed and Warm like a phosphene Memorised, drunk and dead Looking in your eyes, Trying to make sense Of the patterns of Life with what you Have to judge and classify Sensual emotions, letting Go the anarchic impulses And try to make sense Of one's own desires Holding my arms in Closed, memorised emotions In encrypted phosphenes

Does it make sense
To own one’s desires
And hold you in
My arms, closed and
Warm like a phosphene
Memorised, drunk and dead
Looking in your eyes,
Trying to make sense
Of the patterns of
Life with what you
Have to judge and classify
Sensual emotions, letting
Go the anarchic impulses
And try to make sense
Of one’s own desires
Holding my arms in
Closed, memorised emotions
In encrypted phosphenes

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