Coal Mine Heart

Take praying hands into my stomach Take my gut onto them

Allow me this pull—you inside of me The weekend-words of my own heart;

A lull of bloody excuses met With bloody tooth in the dark.

If a soul can touch with praying hands, We clasp praying eyes as wet—

Deep as broken-hearted gasps, Past all that we have known for so long

As lowly coalminer’s pets, Dreaming exits of light and new breath.

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