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an eight mile arch
i send you poems
across the state
via the mail
figurative kisses and
literal pretence
but I don't know
your kiss
the real smackaroo
contained in the charm
and geometry of your lips
and sometimes i think that is better
to dream of journeys
into your intimate mail slot
not knowing the hunger
and appetite of your mouth
allowing your kiss to exist
as an uncharted story
spinning on the horizon
framed by a sextant
in mythical proportions
without being encumbered
by what your lips will
or will not do around me
