After the dreaming you’d
look back slung back
from the pits of his
nails, forgeign legs
release fists to your own
stomach as the flushings
drained against
hard ribs -
So this is morning? The clothing
relied on no such static to
find its precise perch
heavily on the carpet
The story could be
both old and new
You’ll read on, perhaps twice, not whispering
the winter will keep us cold, the
cotton crumpled snow piled white