... poems ..., ... poetry ...


bag of bones.

soft blanket membrane.

antennae to signal and

divide myself and others

and you.

Skin trusts and yours

is a blanket of wind.

your tiny blonde hairs

tickle my very fabric.

the afternoon beads

of sweat on your forehead

and neck are sometimes

considered the

warning lights of Love.

it envelops us, wrapping smooth

boundaries across our chests, ears,

fingers, backs.  we intertwine

and interlock and impart and

deposit ourselves within and

without each other.

warm, calloused, smooth, tickled.

in this world

billions of bags, walking,

connecting, escaping,

and of them all

i would know your skin

above all other senses.

i would know you

by nothing more

than a

simple touch of the

toes underneath

a Midnight blanket.


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