By Aleathia Drehmer
Muted flesh tones
on a background
of lamp lit night,
images move slowly
dragging, blurred,
and pixilated.
I am captivated
watching your silent
contemplation of movement,
thumbnail perched
on your bottom lip
like an accident
waiting to happen.
The length of your neck
bare to the chest,
flaunts itself
like an invitation
to a bloodletting.

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