11
Jun
09

Untitled

Not much longer /til the chill turns to fever

The belly lay soft/ nudged by tiny anchors

We are moored in precedents/ this yoke, the only certainty

Black lipped whispers /already instruct us on how

The night is creaking /while we wait for the bolt

Our mouths are tentative/poised at the brim of it

Steam and breath/a potent new force of life

Warm in our sockets/we are flesh and bone

Pleased by symmetry/ smoothing linen in the same way

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