An empty page like a well-made bed
I can’t resist but stretch
out on rolling like a cat
in dirt to maintain
his sleekness and indifference
a rage like an undone head
may find in here some reach
for warmth for silence sleep
the exhalation of the night
inner and outer away
angling through eyes and ears
having to trouble to dream
to turn over and hold
your body next to me.
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