I think something
is wrong with me.
When I look at
the swept sky
clouds pulled like wings,
spotted like our shoulders
with blue
something twists
in my stomach.
We are two dogs
touching noses with
raised ruffs.
His nose is my nose,
my mouth, his mouth.
His toes tapping to my fingers flickering
Our hearts drumming warnings
through sheaves of corn.
We are magnesium filaments
in glass domes,
candescent white bright
radiuses of tidal eyes
and skittering smiles,
turning ourselves down
so the air doesn't burn with us,
shrunk so touching elbows
gives off flares.
The sky is beautiful today.














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