Thursday, September 27, 2007

At 39 Weeks


These days

are tied down

mostly

by print and paper


or they stay

asleep

firm, ripe plum,

plump.


Still your hands

seem webs or nests

--places

that are home


And i miss twisting

around you like flame,

making you disappear

inch by inch,


sweetly, in sweat:

while your touch

like twilight, smudges

me purple-tinged.



_

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