I project the inward out,
everything I offer you already have.
Our meshing a tangle of needs and wine.
Outside, rain sluices down windows
drops meet, merge, slow, but
they all seem to fall alone.
Inside we are too warm, our words
hot and heavy and I think of the desert:
to move, make such wondrous noises, but
not to change.
In cool sweat and tangled sheets
the rain loud over our breath, we find
smiles, yes, but no words to share,
not one.
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