something heretical in our sera
a peeking thing, half mischievous
and i, trying to see if you are my mirror if you
recognize the streak in me as your own something familiar smelling like the sweat beneath your arms the
glossy glint off your scleras the
trail of forest on your body
heretical
something wild in the the skin that slips beneath my hands like a
many-worn silk of some old god like a
selkie would feel about the centuries old earth and the
neverchanging of days, darkbrightdarkbrightdark

something freeing about the sting of winter air in my nostrils something
ripped away from my long exiles in the city something
replenished in the true empty fullness of a silent tundra a
dirt-covered snowbank a
grey iceflow on the water something
dissident and infidel about your soul and mine together something
potent in our marrow something
wild and
freeing and

dying