Two Sonnets


                                    adorned curiosity
                                                               taken to breeze pressed
                                                               of our urban , in sun &
                                                                                                   paved regular / antidote
                                                               from fray through intersect,
                                                                                                   led to humming & legs &&
                            cut hours slept desire curving across the body
                                                                                                   sparse; conversation
                            gives verdency you
                                                         hold tightly to public workspace
                                                         resident /
                                                                         & i am quickened by mutuals
                                    & fringe thoughts calm to hands, the poem’s
                                    sphere spinning tired in its longing to laugh
                                    inhibited –
                                                      by which i mean
                                                                                sensations tuned
                                    to fret tense / guard open, brockwell scattered
                                    w/ the quiet of studious girls & september.
                                                                                                       dusk hands alike the
                      flesh that will not know, or presently
                                                                               intellect & steady tones you
                                                                               thrive & utterly pair down

      “I’ll become the Lover of the quick world //
       For these trees waves and thieves I’m eager!”
                                                                  ~ Frank O’Hara

                                                                  worn by composure of praxis eager / finely
                                                                  reigning held open risk as
                                                                                                          night cannot drift out
                                                                  before crave cuts from body
                                                                                                              tangible want lips
                                                                  to drift back of hand met neck line &
                                              breath as the
                                                                  poem falls off the tongue dry / teary to
                                                                  clutch herstorical
                                && arid of rogue girls
                                & turn bounding out of our inches / would give
           in mindful of
                                you wrapping up locks mornings as the sun press thins / plural compensate,
                                the syntactic multiple of ‘more’; &
                                                                                     as gulls accompany seafront
                                                                                     threading sonnets w/ physicals, texture
                                            of hands curbing spent w/
                                        nights close limbs across rest


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