Friday, June 25, 2010


your silence by which I mean
there is no eye contact

a tattered ball
night giggling
mud scented


it is unclear by which I mean
I try turning in each direction
and yet

yellow light
a waxing moon
at all hours
or a shared taste sweet
and salty


by which I mean
every possibility

against smooth
against skin
against thinking for a moment
outside of this

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