i'll never be
the sultry poet
that i want to be--
the distant figure
in the tunnel will never be the muse--
my muse--
oh but their sound is wonderful
full of strings long
and thick
though it be i swore
never to send another short lined letter to missing muse--
except
eyes tight and closed double-over
time folds velvet over itself
pretending to be female male then female again
the perfect sex forms
made inner connects--
the ocean is in the air our tears hot summer setting
afterwards
when light has left and feeling is gone
the past will spread out
like sheets on a line
reflecting sun tarnish
reflecting memorybirds
scent
and touch
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