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My Kind of Fever
If this ache is not an ailment
It’s a sting and the syringe is you
With buds that snatch my appetite
And leave trickles of sweat as dew.
You, covered in sweat, eyes dimming.
Me, counseled in chills, eyes beaming.
Thirsty and weak,numb but feeling.
Of your fever i risk healing.
I don’t want to forget this pain
My back begging to break again
To dip deep into this fountain
And retain the shift in my brain.
If this fever is an ailment,
I’ll see a medic to heal fast.
I’ll relapse in those caused by you.
Leonell