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duck Sep 2022
we had been swaying all summer along the shore dreaming
when the water pulled you out and
you let it
you let it
you let it
wrap its soft hands around your middle and take you
no splashing no struggle no sound
just me alone on the damp sand face wet with salt
already starting to shiver
duck Jan 2022
my lover is to me as a sunrise over the mountains, easing heavy eyes and tugging at sprigs from the earth with warm hands

my lover is to me as a speckled cat upturned in dusty summer grass, pawing the sky, wind pulsing through field and fur

my lover is to me as a deep orange hazelnut in the palm of a hand, plucked from the warm canopy above

my lover is to me as the soft light of heaven rising on snowy windowsill,  melting what night fell, dripping me clean
duck Jul 2021
I often think of the distance between us,
what it would mean for us to meet halfway,
sail out to some unknown island in the pacific,
and dock our vessels beside one another’s.
Nothing but the sound of your laughter,
the gentle knocking of our boats,
and the clear water lapping at our ankles
as we kick up sand along the ocean floor
trying to reach out to each other.
I think, the first time you take my hand,
that the heat on my skin will match
the warm in my chest, the sun free of
clouds to hide behind, open, bright.
You see, I have loved the ocean waves.
I have bathed in the sunshine and sand
like most never have. But in loving you,
my dear, I see the sea sparkle, the sand glow,
the sunshine beam, and delight at the salty
sting of your teeth biting my lip.
I often think of the distance between us,
and how when it does cease to exist,
salt will have never been so sweet.
duck Jun 2021
i found the body of a small bird on my kitchen floor.
it was so small, legs curled upwards,
eyes lifeless and open.

how long had it been there? it was
evening, the silky winter light
had almost set, yet outside i cradled it
in my palm, soft and green.

on grass stained knees, i dug
dirt caked fingernails through
dusty earth, and
mumbling a prayer, gently buried
it under the camellia bush.

i have never been interested in death,
content with my own indifference,
but oh – to settle a beautiful thing,
tuck it into place under the earth above
which it once soared, to part the damp
soil and return what once was born –

was the world always this delicate?
duck Sep 2020
cowboy, race your steed,
outrun what you desire most.
ride the hot desert wind,
hooves kicking up dust
(stings your eyes).
the strength of the muscle under your hands,
firm, twisting, curling muscle,
like your boy's back under your palms,
neck bent as you finally kiss his nape
(stings your eyes).
your home is dry, harsh, unforgiving.
but your boy's mouth is curling up under your own,
so, slowly, you learn to forgive.
this one goes out to all you repressed gay cowboys. stay strong buddy
duck Mar 2020
i saw you smile once.
i remember, you answered a call,
i dont know who it was,
but tension melted from your face
like ice cracking cleanly in warm water,
fondness seeping through
and settling just behind your eyes.
my chest was sent hurtling down a mountain,
crashing through trees and rocks,
and plummeting into summer lakes.
i could have spent endless days out there,
floating along those currents,
my boat sail snapping with the force of
your breathy laugh into the reciever.
i saw you smile once,
i remember.
duck Dec 2019
wet green moss and winter calves,
sly smiles and limoncello laughs;
carbonara grins and giggly eyes,
tiny cigarettes and wide open skies;
mournful ruins and teasing remarks,
sneezes in naples but bright roman sparks;
sleepy bus journeys and the back of your head,
etruscan bronze and paintings of bread;
late night laundry thinking of you,
heart rate climbing as you came into view;
you hear my bad puns and i love your low chuckle,
you grin at me and my walls unbuckle;
my stammering voice and your comforting gaze,
i will remember this time until the end of our days.
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