My breathing is slower than your breathing. I am stable. Time runs gently through me.
I am addicted to a faster heartbeat. With a heart that beats to the rhythm of a cold, war drum, the same heart desires more than a steady pulse.
Lighting and thunder. Phone calls. Sprints in the dark.
You may look at me and tell yourself, "She is life. A tree."
I may question, "Where are my leaves?"
Swerving cars. A hungry face. Touching in the light.
This is what she wants. To float. It takes more to move bones.
I am addicted to a cold sweat. Why the dry palms? I am never sick.
Brain tumor. Enraged appendix. Meningitis in the spinal cord.
Observant is what they say. Listener is what I am. I hear you with all senses.
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