Wedding Night
When you arrive
late it’s not that at all
it’s because the
groom had been waiting long
at the rock,
for hours before some search
was taken up,
and then it’s only in
the dark, like men
do, groping for the way
with their
sightless hands, that he comes to know
you’ve been
there the whole time while he looked
everywhere but
where you really were.
His story’s
good. When he reveals the muck
in the cups of his
armpits, the backs of
his knees,
every bowl of a place, every
print of skin
rubbed inside of him he won’t
know while he
searched, while he clung and stumbled
some angel
tended you, when he was through,
kissed your
bloody lips, and you can’t explain.
Only it was dark,
you didn’t know the way.
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