The Punishment of One Is the Love Song of Another
At last, I have found my assassin. At last,
I have struck gold. When my past hissed
with cobras, you let me sleep. When
I was falling, you brought the ground closer
and made gravity of flowers like a kiss.
One body moving is a seduction. One body
is a practiced leap and a parachute
unsprung. Only the scalpel knows the passion
of blood. We soothe it with cold and sing it
to sleep. We leap at the chance to be blistered.
We listen and stiffen. We pivot and reap.
My rib cage could be a wasp nest built
of paper. My hand could be the slip of sand
across itself to slake the great unknown.
Snow coughs along the windows now
and listens differently to the pure. Snow
brocades like cotton. Prayers, like burdens, go.
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