***
There where the pleasure to lose fades away
only tatters of song, she humidifies your mouth
until she comes across the spot of elegy
and nothing else let the skin of my beloved
be humidified because she’s so and not somehow
else perfect and useless let her come to the thirsty
mouth, to the numb hand to the basement
into the vacuum to the eye that listens to her
rustlings on her spine and never have I gyrated
as today with my road travelled across so alone
with her riding my neck. Now her softened,
light fist lies down crosswise on all the lips
and under the vault choir singers ‒, it’s celebration.
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