The Red and the Black
Tonight, my skin is a checkerboard
across which your fingers trod.
My eyes are the ransacked cities;
my arms the passageway to escape.
Your hands claim my ribs, my neck.
Your hands rest on my cheeks
sprouting full-formed wheat stalks.
I am the sea, formless and uneasy.
You are the ploughed land, stable and course.
Your calloused hands are tendrils of smoke
hovering in this watchful darkness.
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