hold the air with certainty,
they
know the heat
of
pottery mugs in the dark morning, the texture of creamy
book pages turned hour and hour and hour uninterrupted, and the
sudden
slip over the freshly shaven skin
of
my calves. they have been empty
for this long and they
carry my
words before
setting them free to memory, and caress them,
they
way they did my babies, in
gestures of surprising passion.
my hands, with space to hold a body in them,
love fleeting things, love nothing, and
when i imagine yours in mine, i see fullness, sweet and heavy,
and feel the quick burn of bourbon on my tongue, for a moment
and then gone.
love fleeting things, love nothing, and
when i imagine yours in mine, i see fullness, sweet and heavy,
and feel the quick burn of bourbon on my tongue, for a moment
and then gone.
