a step over
our bed, the day
gone but the night
o so kept, held by
knuckles, running through
our palms like blood
when you pick up
the broken glass
of our love—
headlights keep the sun
at bay, far from
the squeak from leather
seats, the rockabye motions:
seasickness from the suspension springs
with your back pressed
up
against the window; the moon
is full and so are
the stitches.
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