viernes, 13 de abril de 2012

a night´s years pass.-Por Pearl Pirie

sleepless, each curve
takes me to alert, to keen
your hip in  the cup of my hand,   
ribs to my forearm hair, 
the nape to not nip 
and wake you, the shift 
of your mounded rear into  
the hollow of my thigh-spoon.
sleep has fled further 
than these partly overcast skies.
the moonlight wraps you close  
as I would like, close as permission
closer than the sheets you shift off
in the heat of your turns to find
a cool place on your cotton and your face
is shadow softness and 
innocence and mine   
is a kind of hunger.    

Published in the forthcoming Thirsts, Snare Books, 2011

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