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This, Now



While you live, you live
in one chamber of my heart.
When you cease, you'll move
to another.
Does it matter?
(Never ask "Does it matter?"
in a poem, they say
who don't much care either way).
Every second I flood you,
drown you in blood,
renewed, never restored.
While I live.
This, this concealed carry,
this, now, is love.

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.