who wanted me. Someone who felt
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Daniel handed me a tisane of rose hips and lemon grass. Pink glass rained over the floor.
The wind in my hair,
To be baptised in white |
Daniel gripped the white casting net in his teeth; part of it wrapped around his arms, making him look entrapped. The white web over his black skin: a topographic map of his body's terrain. His bald, perspiring head bent intently forward: |
never a more beautiful Neptune.
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The power of words, especially in the shoul- ders. The sun, polish- ing them. To shudder in pain or desire would cost him; I wept. |
To long for parakeets and a house made of shells surprised me.
I held onto the window |
planted on the running board, wind in my hair.
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or the bad? Home, where one swims
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