Meeting in Dim Light - flipside B

Meeting in Dim Light

Water drops hang
from your
hip like chandelier
glass. A mark smudges
your skin. My
lips sucked it to the
surface. My breath
paints
the moon into the window
pan, and you
trace
chills on my
spine.
Your lighter sparks
a candle-wick;
silhouettes
your body. I curve
my fingers
on your ribs and
soothe the hollow
of your neck with my
breath.

1988

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