Pulse. A poem.

Tar, congealing in your veins, sheltering your heartbeat in its quicksilver repose. Aortic mysteries, dissected atriums and ventricles at ease and at odds, pulling and pushing through luxurious days and overheated nights. What will it take to quicken your lackadaisical pulse, to break your blood and soul from this lethargy that holds you fastidiously toContinue reading “Pulse. A poem.”