...Before You

I won't start imagining
you, where you shouldn't be
a skilled
dart
from one
suppressed
anguish
from the other.

She wouldn't like it. She would be
disgusted.

I won't start imagining
me, where I cannot be
deftly
with one
firmly
with the other.

How do we escape this
when it delves into our thoughts
creeps into
crevices, and

touches?

Only a moment.
No, will not.
Cannot.
Succumb.