Sang-Froid

watching, rising, the tepidity of her thigh
this high-noon temperature tantrum
long-legging out the day in a twice-mortgaged
two half-acres.

I shirr…she radiates sun shimmies
that lap her wavy like, liquid,
lingering and out of focus
a clear case of filigree fever

my cool now toast I beat a tepid retreat
to the shallow end of the gene pool
dew point and desire having done in
my sang-froid

 

 

 

Snap Shot

————–

.
Nut And Boltheart on my sleeve
frayed French cuffs
links to a self-imposed
curfew that you
knew
needed more
than time
or the right find
for reasons
still
hung out to
dry
starch
fold
box
closet
and be forgotten
to be remembered
off the cuff
thread bare,
a rusted stem
between us

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