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Insanely Inane Thoughts

If fate doesn't make you laugh, you just don't get the joke.

Taking Cues

I lay drenched in summer’s sigh
on a bed that makes me seem like
a beetle in jungle foliage as I watch
the dark descend through dusk’s
arousal and then I hear you enter,
breathe you whole before
my lungs constrict, as if searching for air through vaccum,
my arms go leaden, like rigor,
my legs entwine, like Jesus,
my ears numb, as if stuffed with cotton,
and my eyelids glue as one.

You flick on the switch, kick off
your shoes, strip, sing as you shower
and clothe without as much as a glance
at one half of the ruffled bedcover from where
I pretend the light doesn’t bother me.

I lay drenched in night’s embrace listening
to you snuggle into fantasial borough, as we often do,
to the Time before love acceded to Seyella’s wishes.

As is the norm, the glue withers as your
breathing dives deep and I gaze at Nyx’s crypt
letting you beguile me again through a zephyr’s vein.

And then you roll over my outstretched
arm, curve your breath into the hollow
of my palm, fogging it with bygone warmth
and startling enmeshed birds in my cardiac cage.

I lay drenched in dawn’s awakening
and as you rustle: reality pervades
dream; I lay drenched
in mine.
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