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A Thanksgiving

You flutter in my pulse like a small bird, open wide-eyes beneath my skin. We are clasped in the hasp of an opening and closing, saturated and indentured to pleasure-trussed stirrings. Hunting angels illuminate our tongues and fingertips. If we move too far from each other our flesh goes blind. Gratitude is not enough we endow each moment to reverence.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2020




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Book: Reflection on the Important Things