My hands (3)

become when I touch him. Slipping my hands underneath his bright head. We are still. Slipped under pinnings of holly. And brave. To say we are between like ships. We are like our bodies are. Opium under our white arms and legs. In the crevice, froth; we lay like ships. My mouth is as my hands have done.


*****

The elastic of still. The indirect reciprosity of still. The joints. The worry unto death, still.

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