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The Knife

 Can I explain this to you? Your eyes
are entrances the mouths of caves
I issue from wonderful interiors
upon a blessed sea and a fine day,
from inside these caves I look and dream.
Your hair explicable as a waterfall in some black liquid cooled by legend fell across my thought in a moment became a garment I am naked without lines drawn across through morning and evening.
And in your body each minute I died moving your thigh could disinter me from a grave in a distant city: your breasts deserted by cloth, clothed in twilight filled me with tears, sweet cups of flesh.
Yes, to touch two fingers made us worlds stars, waters, promontories, chaos swooning in elements without form or time come down through long seas among sea marvels embracing like survivors in our islands.
This I think happened to us together though now no shadow of it flickers in your hands your eyes look down on ordinary streets If I talk to you I might be a bird with a message, a dead man, a photograph.

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