[17 October 2019]
Stay with me a while longer. I hear
you breathe, slow, steady. Trapped in a lazy
bower of arms and wills
intertwined and enmeshed
and indistinguishable from one
another. The headlights from a
car passing through the night shine
through the window, white curtain diffusing
light glow, casting long shadows over your
brow and on your lips – a pilgrim, a silent
sojourner, a wandering priest too wise to peer in the face
of a holy. Your lips part, make room for the
grail and between them I pour
wine, red wine, running down your
throat and down your face and down
your neck and arms and hands and fingers, droplets
pooling on your fingertips and drip drip drip drip
dripping onto the white bedsheets. Stay with
me a while longer. The moon is out tonight. Full,
clean, bright. The light catches in the dark hair
on your head and the dark hair on your
face and the dark hair on the back
of your hands. Illuminates it. I breathe
in, and hear the sound of the
tide rush up against
the moss and the rocky cliffside just outside
your door.
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