Look over your shoulder for the hustle of words.

Thursday, October 4, 2007

Porch Light

The night moves around us like toffee.
It is setting, it is setting, mynahs scatter
from the porch as you posess the space.
Your hard body moves as it means, means
when it moves.

I crawl on you;
you aren't aware of the shifts you make
in me.
Little thrills, tectonic as your finger
slopes along my nape, to my lips.

O god. O god. You wan god.

I suck it in, in the flickerflickerflicker
of the curtain's shimmy.
Light falls through.
Inside white, outside black,
the pretty night binary hugging us roundly.

All is treacle sweet to me: but most?
The way you wake in my palm,
downsoft in my hand.

Shy, fragile life in my hand,
the drumming heart of a bird.

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