Words sometimes
settle between thighs.

Eye up—all night
think how I don’t your

shoulder brush, cough
don’t, you away, leg.

I don’t acknowledge your
mouth when you’re talk
-ing, how can you? Talking

such silence
between an affect.
Sounding pangs liquid

off every windshield
tears the sky open.
Tears, tears. Tears

flesh like zipper
like soft adjutant
in a word-swept womb.

You reach for a bottle
and I want
to stay
your hand with mine.

Photo Credit: samcaplat Flickr via Compfight cc

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