who sits across from you?

face to face, close enough, to sip

your voice’s sweetness,

but my tongue stills, and then all at once

a subtle fire races inside my skin,

my eyes can’t see a thing and a whirring whistle

thrums at my hearing

cold sweat covers me and a trembling takes 

ahold of me all over: I’m greener than the grass is 

and appear to myself to be little short of dying.

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