a vaseline softness holds the
light, only suggesting shadows.
the silence spins, hints of
teeth held together
in denial, a small gasp
waiting, or sugared lips in the
act of unzipping.
potential is almost decided.
my hands move on the silent fabric
a womens scent rises.
there is no plot to this waiting
or depth of vacancy to deter
the repousse of memory
an ear pressed to the murmur of a heart,
warmth of comfort, a vector of rest.
the days of my breath advance,
small turbulences lost in the stillness
that doesn't release me
.
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