Untitled (ROUGH ROUGH ROUGH DRAFT)

We’ve been circling eachother, hungry
as the coyote that used to hide
in my mother’s back yard waiting

for the dinnerscraps to hit the compost
pile. We’re looking for that bit
that imperfection to make it OK

to bolt, to run so the wind
is against skin. The shape of this
path is familiar, round like the middle

of the word we avoid and live.
The shape is unbroken, circling
unending. Eye me up, what are you

looking for? I am naked, see
my scars, one for each moment
I’ve let go, for each thing

I thought too much. Red against my hips,
the long ribbon on my arm, that is a past
far behind. I am silent, watchfull, following

your movements. Circling, circling closer
untill its no longer a defence, its a movement
we make together

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