yes, my frank admission,
i task heart more than is sane,
prying ruins’ panes stretched
to air out derelict brain.
squishy sofa still boasts its
greasy vinyl grooves,
on it, flattery spreads ’till buttery,
smooth and horizontal in its risky
sun-drop portal, swallow me feelings
’till i’m deeply missing.
©Anthony Gorman 2019