my love- litmus
under spoonlight
i raked fingers with it
alone
in the rain
everyone felt the sound you made
my face
beneath
your mane
it kisses
the tips of my fingers
strings of cloud
discharge
in the crooks
and i don't want to sleep alone
so the silver-lined shadows
the negative films
of my celluloid ceiling
enter me with my arms above my head
they are cold like air
and when i am nearly satisfied
they dematerialise
and all is warm, dark
and frighteningly familiar again














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