water drips from the tin roof houses and
spreads out upon the window sill. we saw
your mother crawling on the back porch
tracing the nails in the floorboards. more
at home in a wooden box, her movements
are more silent now.
hands together we walked out in the storm
making a break for the river. i spent time
digesting the lines of your legs, the
bend in your hips. our skin takes
the shape of an intimate secret.
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