Before You Say Anything
It’s the body I
want
to make the first commitment
to stroke the pimpled Braille of
the jaw, the
long esophagus,
the pause of
what’s caught
there before the voice is even
needed. Where all the vague
shades in the room are illuminated,
when our two
suits are unlaced,
unbuttoned,
unlatched,
and
unzipped. The moment
before the paw
drops
between the
teeth of the trap:
the buzz of a
late bee, the finally free
(sweetly)
swallow or thrush
flushed up into
the coming
morning, the
coming evening.
Not a shhhh, or ssssst,
or ultimately ahhhh.
When the teeth,
the tongue are
touching the other
teeth, the
other tongue. Only
outside the shriek,
the sleep
of felled fruit,
warm bruise
cooling, but
not at once, no,
not at once.
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