I have stolen you and will continue to do so.
Blinds open and dusting, we fill each other like
powder. There are poems in which you remember
what it felt like to touch before you touched me.
In some poems, we’re touching and you’re remembering
another someone – on a stool or in a parking lot,
teeth broken against your mouth or palm or thigh. I
arrange the books by color to find where you’ve been
unintentionally inside.
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