with her? We both felt the past slip
from our shoulders, rose-lipped and listening to
jet engines Doppler across the night.
Wasn’t I also me when I lay with her?
Maybe frighteningly more. My sleepsmile
and low whispers hers, too. O,
delicious agony, I’ve divided right
to my body’s historic wharf. I only trust the sweat
salting down my back her fingernail tracks.
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