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  • My house is divided into
    two different time zones,
    separated by a man made lake,
    booeyed with the temporal arcs

    of backs and legs, rising,
    falling on sheets, strewn pillows,
    then surfacing as you demand
    me to join you at the crest.

    You told me to quiet the music,
    and swim to the shores of quilt,
    with a rusty fan blowing on both of us,
    we were restless with sweat until dawn.

    Today, I woke up from a dream of you
    departing, though your bird like smile
    was still lingering on your face,
    your mouth that I kissed by the levee,

    so long ago.

    No matter how many times you try
    to break down the past into parts,
    with equations like laughter divided
    by the number of times

    I’ve disappointed you

    I will always swim to you,
    at a moment’s notice
    or to a melody as fair as
    the sweet breath that carries it.
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