An Afternoon
Document: a portrait crumpled in the brush of night
Anger, the belly is smooth, tempting.
Before the bed: a corset of blankets,
You undo my laces.
And rising all the time on
Tip-toe,
I am old enough.
Or, we were old enough
transiting love longer
the bleep-bleep of telephonics
and flesh games, a space in which
I am forever seeing myself.
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