Friday, August 26th, 2016

legs spread a summer ago

an arch that would bend space- perhaps time

with claws submerged in gemini lines

i spoke as if it were not me

she touched as if it were her

now blooms a new pirouette

and she dances so well

out of the pocket of a penniless poet

caught on her holy trinity of

a kiss, a touch, and the temptation of her presence

pages of caricatures made of ink from lustless, dry moons

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