Venous and I

She made me
*Write! Damn You! Write!*
As if poetry pages
laced through my veins;
Flutters of slashes.

Her memory fades.
I slumber along in a piece
defying your face.
There are traces of you in me;
I taste this razor blade.

She reincarnated
Into me, back, again, away;
Our poetry is lazy
when life and death heat
Blood and Humours boil.

See you. A round, my friend.