Whirligig 5

5 Whirl.jpg

I tear the clothes from your body,
the honey from your smile.
A kiss is never just a means
to an elemental end.

We assemble like bells
in rooms level with heaven.
I tire of your voice,
of your questions all in rows.

We deny each other
the simplest openings,
the vaguest concessions.
How far must we travel
before we seek a sense of home?

To know love
we must speak in Latin,
for only death can grasp
what life in her avidity stores.

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9 responses to “Whirligig 5

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