How nice it would be
to lie with you on my white sofa, only a tree
or two
peeking through
the bay window. Your palms find my triceps,
my lips nudge your neck.
Pale sky blue goes twilight
as your tongue sets,
and in the sacred night
we unfold, orbit, meet.
The part
of you that was a star
bursts
in my nuclear furnace.
For a fleeting instant we become
one.
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