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How do you hold eye contact so confidently?
          Like a storm that's encapsulating a flat valley

You the storm, of course
          and I the valley.
I like you a bucket full
Or maybe a hot tub full
Actually, scratch that––
        a modest pond size full
You know what, **** it––
I like you to the capacity of a whole swelling ocean;
One that is overflowing onto the land.
Last night I could not catch a drop of sleep
My head was pounding and slippery
I forget what it means to feel concrete

The afternoon is smeared by fog that creeps
Baby blue hours are dense with meaning
Last night I could not catch a drop of sleep

Past lives weigh on my shoulders karmically incomplete
All these cups of coffee seem to wash down gloominess
I forget what it means to feel concrete

You wrote a poem about me and that is so sweet
I pulled you back for a kiss after you said goodbye
Last night I could not catch a drop of sleep

I tap my foot to an unpredictable beat
I know there will be safety in your sheets
Last night I could not catch a drop of sleep
I forget what it means to feel concrete.
a villanelle about insomnia and catching a feel or two
I went fishing for intimacy but did not anticipate
this catch
my small sailboat is sideways
yanked by your impulsive and passionate demeanor
will I be capsized?

when you combed your fingers through my hair
when we were camping under a crying moon
I could feel warm feelings swell in my chest for you
like a hot spring that tourists drive hours
to see and bathe in

we are going to a concert tonight
you bought the tickets yesterday and
I brought you a chocolate bar to say
thank you and
I like you
and I cannot wait to be dancing next to you
smiling between guitar riffs and brushing hands
between swift
movements of our hips

it feels so good to know you
to know that I am ending up with you
to know that I don't really know that
but I do know that I am happy to know you
loving in a new way
I go looking for myself at the witching hour
Honey seeps from my eyes and ears
My fist spins a honey dipper to guide the substance into an old jam jar

Salt crystallizes on my tongue

I wander and discover my own bones
Protruding from cold sand
An earthly mantle—
Misshapen masterpiece

My shapes are boundless
The moon extends her hand to scoop me into a ceramic bowl
A raven garnishes it with a silky feather

A fire begins to smoke from the core of the moon
It growls and grumbles

A coyote lays down on the edge of a cliff and sniffles

I shriek and the burning eye of the night god consumes my call...
Only to spit it back at me

My bones find flesh and a heartbeat again.
She would fold. Knees to chest. Flesh folding onto flesh.
Arms acting as a lasso.
Atomic binder.
A hand mirror framed in gold.
A spitting image of charcoal censored with bleach.
Her eyes, unlatched vaults.
Pitchers, carved from ancient rock, poured and surged.
Tsunami compacted into glass.
Pressurized by the weight of the atmosphere,
turned to diamonds in the pit of the lake
Mist distilled:
A tincture of salt, overcast
A drop of blood from a punctured thumb
The subtle starkness of it all

The birth of darkness, a raven, a meek expression
And the death of a white bird (a dove?)
In mutual amplification of the other

Water without gravity
A body without bones
Pearls that are milky stringed with abalone on a wirey rope
The ocean, but in the sky
A reaction to an art piece I saw
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