There is a song in the chest and a need to let it out,
in a calmness that reads well after a commotion:
A palpitation racing against the frying pans
busy for breakfast
Mushin’ corned beef and succulent papayas rubbing
against each other, sauced together in a singular plate
Like necks and lips and the restraining of sound
One night, last night,
A heave follows a conjugation of breaths
A moon shies away from complicity with desire
Barking at the windows is a glaring sun
begging to be noticed
No need, no need, affirmed by a river of sweat
on a neckline
A short pause and then a little talk ensues
A cavalry of silence is a deceptive way
An eye touches another
Sweats prove their absence of names
Syllables are lost in whimpers.
Afterwards, a shared guess:
the loveliness of innocuous acts that
It is not a sealing that embraces do to these acts.
It is an assurance of repetition.