A I R B R I D G E

You have two beautiful minds
that sometimes speak
and I’m never sure
(as you lace fingers around my neck)
if you are going to
drink kisses from my lips,
or choke whatever life
I have.

(And my two minds,
secretly
hope for both)

If burning bridges
was a kind of murder
then you and I have died
a hundred time before, lover;
reborn a hundred and one—
I’m on these shores, now
imagining places
where yours will be. Soon.

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