Would we have ever surrendered
On that summer journey
To immeasurable pleasure
 
Or did the fear of the scalding lava
That lays its trail
Like the beaten glass between us
 
Warm each blood vessel
And warn of the poison lurking
There within the  shadow maze
 
Not a dance of death
On those hot coals
But glassy regret
 
That in the frenzy
Of being permanently aroused
I never once tasted your lips.
 
​
Gar Jones:  December 2016

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