and i could kiss your flight,
when you tumble into clothes,
your warmth like a brush of sun
on the skein of your hair;
i slightly love it when the shampoo rinses
and i am left to drain into a puddle, its
a tangle to be out from you.
your sandalwood slip beneath my nose
like the fine wine i would sink your
body into, to bottle that scent and
braise my bones in it.
i would ache on my lips and let you hug
me, sometime after
with the forest in ash flakes come
breakneck from the sun, searches
in vain for indigo address marks on a wine
glass. its a short hop from wings
to being naked in a bathtub
with a candlelit syringe.
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