19.7.10

WHERE FEBRUARY SEEMS TO REPEAT ITSELF


stay a light with palms pressed to the bulb’s hot skin, this is how i cup the lamp to see you greet me in the dark, one ringless finger strikes my tongue and bends my mouth into a harp.

see the floor where i arrange the papers by thickness. thin vellums for women and children sewn in chains of water and rice. bamboo reed and grass distinguished in transmitted light. for you a lattice of damp oak containing the chest.

leave a shallow print in the bed. in the paper. the only way i know to keep you is to carve a smaller silhouette and open up against a wall.

full silence from the windowpane. “grey” as a verb for the bowl’s sleeping fruit. where spit startles the ice fat sap rings a blue lip. moan my throat down, wet my snot into your shoulder. hold my face while i howl.


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