Darkness sits on the abyss

tempting, bringing me to the edge

fingers, like brush strokes

Trace the smoothness of your heat

like a match, ready to ignite

explosions are held in check

lasting until the wick is spent of fuel

aching to release

but the grip tightens, softly at first

a rush, needing a want, floating

the edge never forgives

teetering inches away

moments are hours, days

the whip cracks, and you fly away

never coming back

until the ride starts again.

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