I once wrote,
“If there’s no more afterglow, then how can the past hold any meaning for us?”
Tightly coiled around my soul,
she hissed, slithering her small,
dainty tongue against the smallest of crevices.
In the day, she bit me,
and there was so much poison
in my veins I began to believe my very existence was only
the over active imagination of Delirium.
With a gasp, I awoke
Forehead drenched in sweat, a scream lodged against a lump in my throat.
and I felt it,
the breath reverberating
through every (crevice);
fiber of my being.
copyright Marie Meyers, 2016