After Morning, again


 

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

of communicating:

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

beget repetition.

It is not a sealing that embraces do to these acts.

It is an assurance of repetition.

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Prick my mind:

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