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I crawl back   he unpacks his tools

oils the wooden handles    rinses the metal


fragrant   his thighs fragrant his sneer


koi & eternity inked on his skin     an ecstatic

blue a bewildered green


some wounds are ovals some wounds are opals

the ears of a white wolf pivot    toward the moon


I flee now & then    alone in the desert for months

a nomad in a kimono of pressed-together dust


beautiful his throat his words    even more beautiful

“it’s my turn to ask for a bit more from you”


he likes it when I bleed    strangers once


gently he hammers gold into a sentence   gently

the sentence enters me


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