Sleep Song, Revisited

— John Allen Taylor

It’s August, & the street lamps ignite
the rise & fall of your chest, your bare
hips by mine. You unearthed me, found me
petrified. Remember, you broke me open.

My hands know your shape, draw you
from you—what bound, unbound. Here:
the camber of your feet, your serrated spine,
the copse of your ribs. I memorize you

with my lips, rub through every seam
of us—listen, I don’t care for the nacre
but for the grit within. You showed me
how to earn this. I will.


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