HORATIO

By West Ambrose

there is no such thing

                                    as a poisonous book, or

poisonous kiss…

                        I was already dead

when I met you—

            in the mausoleum of your

H         E       A       R      T       A       C       H        E

you blessed me,         

       kept me,

       fed me

from the golden wound

            where there is always yet

some liquor left.

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