From Agitation

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Easy, now. The sky cannot have us.

Not yet. What I can never get

enough of is your body,

tongue that tongued my blood

when I. When younger.

Privet hedge, slut of the suburbs,

receive me now, walking, alone,

attared length of an unspent season,

witness to a pair of wrens,

wee ewers carousing the porch

with worsted findings,

nest hidden away, flanking a rogue

thought of mine, unrelayable

as the choked perimeter of prayer.