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Catch and Keep



Catch and Keep

In my pockets I catch your smallest glance.
From beneath your coal-dust lashes
as you sway, stumble, I tuck reproach
into my breast, moving
along the seam.  Dissappointment makes  tinder
of my slowing blood.

In my pockets each gaze rubs
a moment too long. My fingers caught
on your fury, linger too long
on your passion. I cannot spin, but sew
a cloak of days, of evenings where touch
is diametric, but sight burdens
our skin, pricks woad
through our irises, imprinting white
with burnished stones.

Wayward children, we dance
with pieces from a forbidden game.

The usual rush to set this down in the wee hours.

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