Wednesday, May 15, 2013


Among the laundrybones
we root a pink-day

out like a hidden-kitten
wrapped warm in our smells.

We hold it to our ears
hearing in it like a conch

the ocean-sound of our love
cleaning its own fish

of scales into ladders
we flesh over our heads,

making tents of each other's body
to keep the cleansing rain

from washing our love up to shore,
dressed dead in its Sunday best.

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