faint path sun scored woods
we take and shouldn’t take
each other where we will
what we want what will we
find this night we didn’t all
the other nights who knows
pleated cans fractured bags
slimy rubbers how romantic
but yes flatline cicadas flaring
fireflies here the wind strips
the insubstantial clothes
slipping off your peach
body like dry leaves
from a frozen pond
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