Inside Parenthesis
To me, only your hips are parenthesis
and your ribs. Too your cheeks.
It’s a between
that’s brief: a mouth, teeth…nipples
but oh your unplumbable depth… if you put in
at my waterline and in the musk
of dusk’s fog, after all the walkers
after all who’d floated
their ease their milky thin ink
their own lips shut
will you let yourself
(in the boat you are sealed in
rib to rib) float over me
as an albatross
whose confounding weight
means nothing in the
air she’s pinned in as she is:
feather and web and wind-
pipe of raucous hoarded calls
vibrated loose after the long
settling they come to now undone
on the rough rock once she is
beneath you or you beneath
her, it makes no difference
parenthesis. You are elastic
and fiercely angelic
you are shafts of close-your-eyes-
light you are never groped for blind
but only know
only dip in then dive:
some salt, a fleeting wince
and the wet wide sky deep,
alive
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