Joined at the hip, the minutes
and hours, the time it takes
for a hair to split
two worlds-
your mouth,
my skin; to peel
the beautiful, swirling
reels of rose
from its golden
stamen.
I prefer to write:
"there is no pity
in these wrists, no
counting measure
for these bones
growing together,
no perfect solemn
covenant of duty-
just moments
without their secrets".
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