Monday, February 5, 2018


And sleeping, or not.

Rolling in, rolling away and keeping in touch with any stretch of your flesh.

My hand cupping you, your forearm against my shoulder blade.

Breathing against your gloaming kiss.

My skull, your scapula.

Breast to spine.

It’s a full skin moon night.

Awake while you twitched and whimpered,

You dreamed like a coursing, rabitting dog this night,

I went over and over the story you told me earlier.

I couldn’t stop thinking about

How you had pressed your thumb against the throat

Of your best friend’s poisoned, dying dog,

Until you felt its heart slow and then still.

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