let me yoke to you.
twist mine into yours.
screw me in at the hips.
lift me into your if's
and have me, present.
our torquing bodies
charging each other,
holding back the
bloom of darkness.
yes, it is true:
we are
closest to the dark.
but we are also
sown to the broadest urge
that wrote us.
this ebb is lit with written poems,
receding into the lightness of dense being.
so,
jot me
into this
and i
will
exist in
your margins,
like nice little notes
that mean everything in the world.