Tuesday, February 4, 2020

Moonlight Streams Evenly Over the Pasture

We make love quietly, throwing the blankets back to go down on each other, our moans hissed whispers, our gratitude after like a warm low sea. Shall we go together to the library? I wake early and stumble through thermometer-busting cold to throw hay to the horses, then gaze at the sky which is the color of dead trout save for the eastern horizon's dim glow like a candle stub. It is as if we decorate one another for a private holiday, as if we are scribbling on our grandparents' maps with our eyes closed. Coffee gets cold when you don't drink it - this is a law. Moonlight streams evenly over the pasture, regardless of our ineptitude with origin stories. This is another. This is a prayer on the tip of my tongue that explodes us. This insistence is like a ruined ship at the bottom of a lake that one day will be found. My one, my heart, my light cone. Unity is a garden, a hot mouth, at home in us.

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