Fools in the Dark
Brush against my shoulder.
Gently, gently,
friend
or curtain in the wind.
Light a candle,
I’m not looking.
And when all the lights have dimmed:
come comb through the thicket of my armpits,
string the pearly, sweaty beads
on a necklace,
moonlit, shining,
showing me my self-deceit.
Hanging from the lintel’s lip,
I will catch the morning sun.
But for now, brush,
gently, gently
and call me dear foolish one.
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