The Fourth

Your skin pressed to my lips,
aqueous, a river
to seek along, driven
tossed and turned, your cries
a guide, loons moaning along misty shores.

I become your riverine captain,
my fingers as recon soldiers, probing
finding inlets, egress and admittance –
this combat, now mutual,
this struggle overwhelms.

-Martin Burns

About Martin

I'm just... filling time.
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