IT’S NOT BLOOD’S FAULT IT’S RED
Skin strikes skin over plate and within
the frame whose borders are laser-hung
by players who render umpires surplus
What I propose insists on return:
I return you to you you return me to me
or me to me and you to you
return is only to the stranger
Otherwise this thing between our nipples
and knees will mar life for life
what is reflex what is fasciculation
my boredom which you call my loneliness
our pose as entries in the glossary of vision
Our error was mutual:
I did not want to be someone else’s dream
and you have enough of what incinerates
for the light inside you to shine
free of soot
Our bodies blend as alibis
and your cherries are black
as long we as are bodies on screen
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