I Didn’t Know

 

slowly with choir

and possible dents

in our gristle,

love is spent oddly

at hours meant

for others and

silhouetted fingers on bottles,

backlit by screens with poems written

on them

 

“the hour is had,

the calm is now,”

she told me once, as

slowly as a choir

could allow, as

multi-dimensional

as a poem

could be written

in the dark.

 

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