Phoenix
If you were a lover
I’d tire of loving
instead, I nurse
and soothe
as an ulcer
reminded when
I or anyone
commits a misdemeanor
that given your delicate state
it burns pitifully, and you
pained beyond the measure
flare, charring my skin
as I hold on,
stomp out the flames
and bring you back, again.
Copyright © Roseann Geiger | Year Posted 2017
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