It’s Midnight at Lake Mirror

And I’m lost in the parallels
of your breath,
the rise and fall of drums;
thinking this
is how the dust must settle. As we
shake and crawl like loose nails,
chests pitted too tightly. A tension that feels
like love on a tight rope. On my back
tiny armies disagree and leave
scratches. Self-resistance
is my skin and your hands. Your skin
and my teeth. Note the difference vastly
as you dismiss it. The threads that pull my smile
and unravel. Me, the silk who hems your ribs

suddenly. This is how we grow too obvious.


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