A quiver.
A moment.
Like a needle being pressed to the flesh, the muscles spasm.
The bow is plucked.
A heart soars with an arrow.
Plunging toward an empty soul.
Nowhere.
Someone.
A strike that is felt within me.
Awash.
I feel your tension within release
and stand naked to intentions.
Darkness masks the desires that are unleashed alone.
Forgoing a punch-drunk love and scoop the pieces back.
Proper places.
And the still life remains perfect to the discerning eye.
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