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Where do I exist?

In the lab?
In my bed?
My body?

But, where am *I
?
Where do I exist?

How much of my body
could be cut away, separated, from me?

Would there be countless pieces of
flesh and organs,
scattered around one piece:
me?

Is that where I exist?
Is there a specific puzzle piece that,
if removed,
renders the puzzle nonexistent?

Or, rather, if any piece is removed,
altered, or shifted,
does my existence
end?

*Where do I exist?
 Jun 2016 Alexis Walkes
Kerri
Her lips.
A poet's *******.
I crave them
In the most
Euphoric way.
I tremble from
The pink electricity
That passes
Between
Them and my own.
A high that dizzies
My head follows,
As I crash into
Her tongue.
An art so addictive
That I must immediately
Write it down.
Romance fills my pen
As the ink remembers
Every stain
That her lips
Left on mine.
I don't do *******, nor have I ever, but I can imagine the intense cravings and high it brings as I imagine her lips.
Fragrant rhymes.
Flutter about.
Time.
Coursing through the looking glass.
Altering the it.
That was then.
Unchanging.
Mitigating.
Lines.
Into small.
Razor ridden.
Regrets.
This trial by fire.
Purges not sin.
But innocence.
Welding each mistake together to finally.
Yeild a person.
A mass.
Succumbed to the mass.
Less.
Whole.
In which there is room for little else..
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