Disordered Intent
All those desires you deny in the daylight. The gleam of light off the handcuffs hanging from the headboard, the mutual screams in an empty house, the gnarled sheets.
But how will you escape them during these lengthening nights?
The lure of flesh will have its due. All your resolutions avail you not.
November rain
ink running from an open
book of poems
for Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads–Get Listed: November Edition
Frank J. Tassone 
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