Saturday, April 7, 2007

we sweat through our shirts on the front porch. night is pollen-thick, yellow silt slicking our skin. sitting on the second step, i fear my bare feet may stick to the cement. & when k. wipes his forehead, his finger glistens, in the moonlight, is the only thing shimmering. t. has a headache, remains silent save a single dry-mouthed so sleepy, man. they leave an hour after
midnight, leave in the same state as they arrived. some time last week, i began missing them. they way, when together, nothing shifts. the air’s disturbed none my our movement through it. my mind remains dim-lit as before, though we may talk twenty million minutes. & its not a state of calm so much as an absence. of time passing the same as if i were alone with the key difference being not alone.

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