Poetry For Our Time

Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason. -Novalis

After

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Where we lay together in a weave of worn flesh
Where I can’t tell whose freckle I’m admiring
Where my breast ends and where your side begins
Whose wrist I am lightly dragging the tip of my finger upon
Whose chest rises with a draw of breath
Who exhales first, or if we exhale together
Whose bead of sweat collects at my neck
Who holds onto whose waist, whose torso presses against whose arm
Whose fingers interlace and whose hair brushes back
Whose lips initiate a kiss, whose skin presses first, whose eyelashes tickle whose shoulder
Who folds their leg, who grabs hold of the sheet, who hushes who with their mouth
Who grips, who arches, who drapes their arm, who pulls closer
Who lifts their hips, who cries out, who sighs
Where you cradle your head into my neck
Where we kiss each other with the tenderness of newborns
Why our hearts stop
And how we are brought back to life

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Written by TheUndomestic

February 15, 2009 at 10:10 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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