Settled Secrets

 I am your fingers crossed.


The shaft of kitchen light

Develops brown brick eyes,

The scattered freckles

Lightly over ivory cheeks,

You desert hands

Erotically dry,

Your lips at play,

Spilt.


I tug the banded lacing intricate,

But only toward, never down,

Seconds and seasons filtered funnels

Straining pure,

Intense,


This time we are deliriously

Killing.


- 1/27/24

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