To K

(6/10/80)

radio jazz
through summer windows
and faraway laughter
through plywood partitions,
the goose-necked lamp
a haze of red
through my closed eyelids.
 
barely a scent
of paint and glue,
of jazzman's smoke,
of familiar sweat,
as you moan in my arms
in this warehouse cot,
and all of your power
moving
moving
through me.
 
in this cluttered loft
somewhere outside
the boundaries of time
where I knew you
once
and now I am holding you,
open.

 

 

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