Minimalist Gossip Magazine Cover (49).pdf (23) - Flipbook - Page 45
passing clouds
those ones there in the shape
of a woman with her nipples bent
inwards. A rotoscoped body in
custody of the air. As though a hand
splits apart her thighs her body
dissipating somewhere over
black-blue surfaces of fields in shadow
there is a glut in my throat an empty air pocket
skin fold origami
on the phone trying to speak but coughing-up
dry and words caught in flaps
it’s as though
the sound has been scrapped away
but it’s difficult to say what I think
I finish up and have a drink the streets widen
and the lights pop and blur
evening this time of year is a tardy sex between
day and dusk the erotic always lingers
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