the memory compels,
witness to your troth,
the rigors of the ritual,
the rapture of your grace.
Some slow, strong kiss,
the evident reckoning
between the daylight
and your ghost. Still,
your words stray into
this dull bludgeoning night,
like the way your hips sway
as you ascend the stairs,
your spine stretched like
prayer, posed in the form and
phrasing, will and words
bound tight in my mind
as I read you again, aloud
the right now of it
all tongue and lips and
anxious teeth as again
the condensed breath and
low animal sounds
seal this moment like
fingertips pressed against
the unspoken, the summer
floor spread with shed
hesitance, waiting in
the words.
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