Biding Time

I want you to know

One thing.

You know how this will go.

If I look

At the pock-marked moon, at the red branch

of the slow autumn at my window.

If I touch

Near the fire,

The impalpable ash

Or the wrinkled body of the log

Will the cosmos wink back.

As if everything that exists;

Aromas, light, metals;

All the elements of this alchemy

That makes you,

Were but little boats

That sadly sail

To the isle of your savage abode.

Where you wait for me,

Looking for the quiet moments

Between ticks

To pounce and claw this skin.

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