I am ill
I am drained like a mud-baked reservoir in
The longest of hot summers
I am driven like a dentist's drill
My heart pounds like a migraine
And I burn like a bonfire of books
I am shaken like a Martini
I'm in that poem
This line
I can't concentrate like...
I cant concentrate.
I want inside you like an open-heart surgeon
Engulf you like a newly flooded plain
Homesteaded like the first settlers at the frontier
To dance so hard I burst in flames
Be a bright burning peacock
For your delight
I'm on fire
And want to blaze