i place my head beside her thigh
as if to sleep in her warmth,
I say Twosday,
she says,what?
I repeat, Twosday,
Yes, she say, it is,
pausing to consider
and connect
my dots:
Ha, you’re writing a poem!
“head connected to my thigh bone,
drawing from within me,
the necessary ingredients to
inspire, perspire,-and respire
this agglomeration of the
in and out of your surroundings
contacting pulses”
I think, ah,
she’s got it,
but all I say and
state with definiteness,
by repeating,
and breathing out
Toosday, Twosday!
Tues 1-14-25