I am too literal now for the images of before

so forgive my mentioning the diaphram, its
slow and metered inhalations muscle-contracting
by centimeters at a time, like intertwined threads,
gently pulling me apart from the middle on out;
permit me the red blood cells' march within me,
little soldiers of affection coming to laze in my cheeks,
hammering center, cleaving middle - the I, defeated,
who cannot stop craning upwards for the
eraser brought to board with time as sound (nothing)
glistening center pulp heathen shine with extract
the world is empty and I challenge the meaning
so how normal to crave the silence of your kiss