we went wet
coming outs of inside itself
such a taste is
reserved for the celebratory..
..satisfied only with
the little dangersalt in it.
nothing is ever
separate for long, though
it is our play trying.
though it is a flurry full
of greasy glitter, shards of
mirror all mouth foggy, sharp.
what we say is- immediate and oh
nothing is not round about it-
rhythm i don't care this
is the way i'm baptised:
possessed, occupied
in a dance of derivatives
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