Fever

Hot.

         Motionless at the window.
Forehead beaded with a line of fevered moons, swelling

         and then dropping
to the floor—

         Parched.
Face flushed. Room flushed, red shadows licking up the walls,

         the ceiling,
you briared in it like a rose on a spit, rubiate,

         carnadine—
Breathing.

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