in more than just the gentle hours with their careful clocks
and looks of knowing, but the ones that are less clean
and sharp edged too, i ask of you to make a home in my navel.
*
the warm air clouds the mirror revealing a note to ourselves.
a confession. a reminder of our inclination to speak in prayers.
*
love is massive.
1 comment:
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clouds
carved
in
our bones
{« For beauty », I replied –}
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