By | 27 July 2009

again a soft-focus filter between us
and i forgot where i was
beginning our descent into barbarism:
in ease of darkness
he peeled back the sheet and slid his hands
between shadows
and flickers of saints.
the crescent curve of his back
And our breaths intertwine on the world's edge
Lashes to lashes. Sky's shades
his head angled backwards,
smooth neck reflecting the sky.
The light flickers,
we both flicker,
to steal under closed doors
then find him, open-eyed and loving.
I don't believe there's anything to say
except, “I was alive like you. Back then.”
When he reads me, I'm reading him
I wish I'd written him

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